


Dogsbody

by tellezara



Category: Gyakuten Saiban | Ace Attorney
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-05
Updated: 2013-01-05
Packaged: 2017-11-23 18:10:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 37,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/625136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tellezara/pseuds/tellezara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's summertime, and Edgeworth needs his swimming pool cleaned. Looking to make a quick buck, Gumshoe volunteers to be his handyman for the whole weekend, little realising that Edgeworth will come to look at him in a whole new light...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Jack of All Trades, Master of None

"Here's those files you wanted, sir," Detective Gumshoe's face was obscured by the large stack of files he cradled in his arms, but over the topmost dusty tome Edgeworth could see the puppy-like enthusiasm in his eyes. "You sure are requesting a lot of these old files - are you onto something with your research?"

Edgeworth cocked an eyebrow at him.

"Why else do you think I'm pulling all these old notes, Detective - a little light reading over lunch?"

"It's lunchtime already?" Gumshoe asked eagerly.

Edgeworth groaned - as usual, sarcasm wasted.

"No, it's _not_ lunchtime, Detective," he said patiently. "It's barely ten o'clock."

Gumshoe's stomach grumbled audibly, and though most of his face was hidden by the files, Edgeworth knew the 'Hungry Gumshoe' look when he saw it.

_I could write a book. "The 101 faces of Detective Gumshoe" - complete with pictorial references to aid easy identification..._

"Actually, one hundred and one would be giving you far too much credit. You've only got about six. Hm, perhaps a pamphlet, then, rather than a book?"

"...Huh?"

That was 'Confused Gumshoe'.

"Let's see," Edgeworth began ticking them off on his fingers, "Hungry, Disgustingly Cheerful, Sheepish, Confused, Excitable, Worried, and the classic - Doleful Hound. My, there's enough for a reproduction of _Snow White._ "

"Uh... sir?" Gumshoe was completely mystified now.

"Never mind, Detective - I was merely thinking aloud," Edgeworth had a half-smile of amusement on his face. He pointed to a spot on the floor by his desk. "Files there, please, _gently_. Then you may go back to whatever you were doing."

Gumshoe offloaded his pile of files with relief. He was rather red in the face.

"Phew, it sure was hot down in the fileroom," he said, wiping his forehead. "Looks like we're finally getting a spell of summer weather, huh?"

"Ah!" Edgeworth snapped his fingers. He immediately reached out to write something on the memoblock at the edge of the desk.

Despite having an eidetic memory for all things law, the prosecutor was heavily reliant on this memoblock and his secretary's diarykeeping to ensure he remembered his errands and the few social engagements he had to keep. Gumshoe tried not to read it these days - the last inscription was '**BUY HANNAH'S BIRTHDAY PRESENT** ?Gumshoe'. He had been duly despatched to procure this - he had rather thought she would like the Blue Badger plush toy. Its lopsidedness and crazy smile made it kinda cute. Hannah loved it as much as he loved his subsequent paycut, it turned out.

However, this latest note read 'GET POOL CLEANED', and he saw a golden opportunity to make a quick buck.

"That time of the year again, huh?" he said.

"Mm," Edgeworth said absently. He leaned down to pick up one of the casefiles.

"I can clean pools, you know," Gumshoe added, sledgehammer-subtle.

"Oh?" Edgeworth replied, mostly unconcerned but with an inflection showing mild interest.

"I did my neighbour's pool last week; he seemed pretty happy with it! Lots of folks wanting them done around now, y'see. Got a few more lined up for later on." Well, he didn't really, but if he could say he'd cleaned Mr. Edgeworth's pool, why, that was his reputation made! "And I do a good rate," he added hopefully.

"Oh. You charge." Edgeworth lifted the file with a grunt of effort, hoisting the thing onto his desk. He opened it, about to start reading.

"Uh, only a little!" Gumshoe gabbled. "H-hey, how about this, boss? I'll clean your pool and you can pay me if you're happy with it?"

Edgeworth looked up from the file.

"There's other things needing done at my house too," he said casually. "And I only submitted your pay review yesterday. There's still time for... alterations."

Gumshoe didn't even hesitate.

"I'll be your dogsbody for the whole weekend, boss!"

There was a glint in Edgeworth's eye.

"I'll hold you to that, then, Detective," he smiled toothily. "Make sure you're early on Saturday. There is much to be done."

He was rewarded for his spontaneous benevolence with Gumshoe Look #2: Disgustingly Cheerful. 

"I won't forget this, boss!" Gumshoe beamed. "I'll work hard!" he bounded out of the office.

Edgeworth waited until the door had shut behind him, then crossed out the note on his memoblock with a cackle.

At 6am on Saturday morning Edgeworth's doorbell rang insistently. Eyes blurred with sleep, the prosecutor stumbled down the stairs and opened the door, peering owlishly at the man standing on his doorstep. He was dressed in khaki painter's dungarees that were splattered with a variety of stains from white paint to black grease to who-knows-what, and he had a tool belt slung across his chest like a bandolier – but the eager expression on his face and the pencil behind one ear unequivocally identified him as Detective Gumshoe.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Edgeworth said dourly, rubbing one eye. He was dressed in pink satin pajamas, his hair dishevelled. He was not a morning person, in the slightest.

"Uh, you said to come early...?" Gumshoe scratched his head, looking sheepish.

Edgeworth gave him a withering look, made all the more penetrating for being delivered from beneath sleep-heavy eyelids.

"Early is a relative term, Detective. Like your _salary_."

Gumshoe winced. He knew from past experience that he had but a few seconds to salvage the situation or the threat would become reality.

"I-I'll come back later so you can get some more sleep!" he said immediately, spinning on his heel and stepping towards the road.

A hand reached out and grabbed him by one strap of his overalls, stopping him in his tracks.

"You think you can just leave, having gotten me out of my bed? I think not."

Edgeworth tugged on the strap, and the Detective obediently backed into the house, down the hallway and into the lounge.

"Switch that on," Edgeworth spun him around and pointed at the kettle in the kitchenette area. "Put one spoonful of that," the tin of tealeaves next to the kettle, "into that," the tea strainer, "and the moment the kettle's boiled, pour the water over the strainer into the cup you'll find in there," he pointed at the cupboard above the kettle. "Leave the strainer in for _three minutes exactly_ \- treat it like one of your pot noodles; a second more and the flavour's ruined. Got it?"

"Yessir!"

Edgeworth looked at him shrewdly.

"I don't believe you, even though it's quite simple. Repeat it back."

Gumshoe did so. Now parrot-learning was one thing he was good at. Well, he had to be - he wouldn't even be able to afford noodles otherwise.

Edgeworth nodded, satisfied.

"Very well - off you go. I'll be back shortly." He disappeared upstairs.

As he got changed, Edgeworth could hear Gumshoe whistling away merrily. He recognised the tune; it was the Pink Princess opening theme. Damn, that was part of his Saturday morning routine disrupted - there was no way he could watch that with the Detective there.

"What a nuisance," he muttered to himself, but it was his own fault for not being specific. Speak literally, or be taken literally, that was the golden rule for dealing with Gumshoe. Still, his early arrival wasn't a complete loss - he _had_ been literal when saying there was a lot to be done. He looked out the window as he was brushing his hair and smiled, humming along to Gumshoe's whistling downstairs. The weather was going to be good today - perhaps he'd be able to take an evening dip in the pool once the Detective had finished with it.

His humming ran ahead of the Detective's whistle - Gumshoe had faltered slightly, and when he resumed the whistling was more thoughtful in tone. That wasn't a good sign. It slowed down some more. Edgeworth hurriedly pulled his trousers on and charged down the stairs just in time to snatch the milk carton from Gumshoe's hand.

"Heathen!" he hissed. "That's Earl Grey you're brewing - you don't add milk to that!"  
"Whoa!" Gumshoe stepped away from the china teacup in alarm. It was balanced in a cock-eyed fashion on the saucer and wobbled with a clatter as his feet clumped on the tiles. "Sorry, boss - I just saw how you made it at the office so I thought-"

"That's English Breakfast tea I make there. Earl Grey is taken either black or with a dash of lemon. Not with milk, or sugar," he shuddered at the thought, reaching out to straighten the teacup before picking up the saucer with it on. "Not that I'd expect you to know that, given your more... _plebeian_ choice of tipple," he made a noise of disgust.

"Aw, well there's nothing like a good coffee first thing in the morning," Gumshoe declared. "Mr. Godot woulda agreed with me on that one!"

"A _good_ coffee, perhaps, but yours is akin to industrial-strength road tar."

Edgeworth cautiously sipped the tea. He was perhaps taking his life into his own hands with this action, but as it turned out the tea leaves had been in for exactly three minutes as he had requested. At least he could count on the Detective to get that right. He'd seen Gumshoe making a pot noodle before - it was a rather disgusting sight. The moment the second hand hit 12 on his watch, the detective would leap forward and tip the entire contents down his gullet to capture what he called The Pot Noodle Moment; that instant at the three minute mark when the flavour was at its best. At least _that_ particular Neanderthalian talent was handy in some quarter.

"Is that alright, boss?" Gumshoe nodded at Edgeworth's cup.

"I'm drinking it, am I not?"

Gumshoe grinned, pleased with himself.

"So what's next, huh?" he looked around. "Can I take your dog for a walk?"

"No. You might teach him bad habits."

"Aw," Gumshoe was crushed. "But I like dogs."

_Because you're like a big, clumsy puppy yourself, really._

"You can meet Pess, though. I'm sure he'll find you entertaining." Edgeworth fished a few slices of bread from the bread bin and stuck them in the toaster. "Undoubtedly he'll get in your way repeatedly while you're sorting out the garden - as is his wont."

"Your garden?" Gumshoe asked, curious.

"Well, it needs some... work." Edgeworth was looking in the fridge, going about the serious business of deciding whether he wanted marmalade or jam on his toast. "I usually let it do its own thing during the winter and get it fixed up at the start of spring in time for the bulbs to come up, but things have been a bit hectic and I haven't gotten around to calling the gardener yet. Or the builder to make the gazebo I ordered." He thought for a moment, drinking down the rest of his tea. "Come to think of it, my new wardrobe is still flat-packed in the garage as well." The toast popped up and he put the empty teacup and saucer down on the table, lifting the slices out of the toaster to swiftly butter them and spread the marmalade he'd picked.

There was an audible tummy rumble from Gumshoe. Edgeworth paused, mid-butter. The toast did smell good. He sighed, finished buttering the last slice and spread it with marmalade, then placed it on the plate with the others and held the whole thing out to his left while getting more bread from the bread bin.

"I suppose I have to feed my labour." The plate suddenly became lighter. He turned to find it was now empty. Gumshoe had turned the three slices into a triple-decker toast sandwich, that was now missing a large bite out of it. He chewed with a serene expression on his face, transcending to another plane of marmalade-induced contentment.

Edgeworth shook his head, putting the plate on the countertop and fishing another three slices out of the bin to go with the three he already had. It was just as well he had a big toaster.  
***  
"Whoa, I'm all fired up now!" Gumshoe cried, wolfing down his last bit of toast. "I'm ready for anything you throw at me, sir!"

"Oh yes? Then what about this," Edgeworth lifted the plate, "at your head? You just emptied my entire bread bin, and that was a jar of my favourite marmalade, imported from Britain, that you just polished off!"

"Eeek!" Gumshoe backed away, shielding his face. It was his stock response to the prosecutor picking anything up suddenly - Franziska had her whip, but she was a mild threat compared with Edgeworth's ability to turn ordinary items of office stationery (or kitchen crockery) into assault projectiles. "Sorry, boss - I got kinda carried away."

"Are you normally such a gaping _black hole_ when it comes to breakfast?" Edgeworth said disparagingly.

"Uh... well, I don't normally have breakfast," Gumshoe admitted. "Only got so many noodles and weenies to last me the week an' all."

Edgeworth paused, then he put the plate down with a sigh. The Detective was most efficient when he was hungry, but perhaps he had been a bit heavy with the pay cuts of late. Then again, he had conducted a little experiment with the Detective's salary and found it directly correlated with the number of serious gaffes he made. By cutting it in response to particularly spectacular episodes of incompetency, eventually it reached a plateau upon which the Detective could eke out an existence while causing the minimum amount of vexation to _him_. After all, every six months he had to lock horns with the HR Director and justify keeping the Detective on the payroll - and some days he felt it was all worthwhile, and other days it really wasn't. He hadn't decided what today was, yet.

"Have you had enough to eat?" he asked.

"Sure have!" Gumshoe chuckled, rubbing his stomach. "Best toast I ever had."

He was easy to please, at least.

_I suppose it's kind to let him have a taste of quality once in a while._

"Come this way, then," Edgeworth walked towards the French windows at the end of the lounge, throwing them open. At the sound of that, Pess came bounding down the stairs and shot out the door into the sunshine.

"Here, boy!" Gumshoe called out after him, but Pess was already halfway down the garden.

"He's having his usual morning mad moment," Edgeworth explained. "He'll do a circuit of the garden at fifty kilometres an hour and come back to collapse on the patio for a minute or two."

"Your dog's pretty crazy, huh?"

"He's a collie," Edgeworth said airily. "They're all a bit eccentric."  
Gumshoe followed him onto the patio, gawking at the size of Edgeworth's swimming pool.

"Pal, you could hold the Olympics in that!"

"Don't overexaggerate, Detective - it's not Olympic-sized; it's about ten metres short."

"Still pretty damn big. You must be a good swimmer, boss," Gumshoe said, clearly in awe.

"With a lap speed of thirty-five seconds, I think I have to agree with you," Edgeworth said smugly. "Now, cleaning tools are in the garage, which I'll unlock for you. I trust they need no explanation on my part. How long do you think it'll take?"

Gumshoe looked at the pool, sizing it up.

"Well, you've got it covered well, so probably a few hours?" he made a rocking motion with his hand, indicating it was an estimate.

Edgeworth blinked. The last cleaning company he'd employed had taken half a day.

"Right," he said slowly, realising he was looking at a dying breed of good, honest labour. "In that case, I'll take Pess out for his morning walk and let you get on with it. I'll be about an hour or so."

He went and unlocked the garage, showing the Detective where all the tools and chemicals were, then he grabbed Pess' lead from the hook, whistling to summon the collie from the patio. Edgeworth opened the boot of his car and Pess leaped right in.

"Shall we go to the Hill today?"

Pess licked his hand. The Hill was one of his favourite walks but they didn't go very often because it was a good hour in length, and Edgeworth rarely had that kind of time. But he had missed Pess dreadfully while overseas, and since coming back he had been determine to take Pess on some longer walks to give the collie a chance to have a good run.

He shut the boot carefully, then turned to Gumshoe.

"You'll have it done by the time I come back, yes?"

"In an hour?!" Gumshoe choked, turning jerkily to look at the pool again. It seemed to have almost doubled in size at second glance.

"Oh, it'll be slightly longer as we're going to the Hill - an hour and a half, maybe?" Edgeworth waved a hand in his direction. "You're running on good toast and marmalade, so I expect a corresponding increase in productivity. Got it?"

"S-sir!" Gumshoe grabbed up the pool nets and scuttled out.

And that was the way things should be - admittedly it was a huge pool, and Edgeworth knew he was probably pushing it a bit, but Gumshoe could achieve even the near-impossible with the appropriate threat hanging over his head. He heard the sound of the pool gate opening and clanging shut, and having been satisfied that Gumshoe was getting to work, he and Pess set off for the Hill.  
***

It was shaping up to be a glorious day, and the Hill's walking tracks were well-traversed even at this early hour. Edgeworth had picked the longest route, so he didn't meet any joggers, but there were cyclists and dogwalkers aplenty. He even bumped into Winston Payne walking his two chocolate-coloured poodles, though the sight of his purple jogging outfit was definitely best forgotten.

Pess was completely in his element. He delighted in galloping up the path to see what was ahead, then running back to leap around him excitedly - as if to say 'come and see!' - before rushing off again. Edgeworth had also picked this route to avoid the duck pond - it was Pess' one big weakness; if he caught sight of a duck he would be straight after it. And Edgeworth knew from past experience that the pond water absolutely _stank_.

It had been fairly cool at the start of their walk but now the sun was higher in the sky, and Edgeworth could feel the warmth of it on his face. He had taken his jacket off a little while ago and had it slung over one arm. A few blossoms clung to it - he had walked beneath some trees that were already bearing their spring flowers. He had craned his head back to look up at them as he walked underneath the branches - the white flowers made a good contrast against the blue sky, a spring picture postcard. Now, as the track curved back towards their starting point, he was walking in direct sunlight, and he reached into his jacket pocket for his sunglasses, shutting one eye against the brightness. Pess loped up to him, panting.

"Getting tired?" Edgeworth patted his head.

Pess walked by his side for a few yards. Edgeworth checked his watch - it was nearly 8 o'clock, they'd been out for an hour already and they were still a good way from the car. It had been a pleasant walk, but all the way around there had been the nagging thought at the back of his mind that, having left Gumshoe to his own devices, his house could potentially be a smoking ruin. He hadn't sped up his pace because he wanted to make sure Pess had a good run outdoors, but now the collie was starting to tire it was probably better that they headed home. So he sped up to a powerwalk, the blossoms blurring into streaks of vivid colour as he passed them. Pess trotted along easily beside him, and a short while later they were at the exit. Pess went straight for Edgeworth's car, jumping into the boot as soon as it was open.

"Good walk?" Edgeworth asked him.

Pess barked in reply, tongue lolling through his mouth in a pant and his lips parted in a canine grin.

"Oh yes, yes it was - is that what you're saying, hm?" Edgeworth rubbed his head and silky ears, quickly checking them to make sure the collie hadn't picked up any ticks while nosing through the underbrush. "Right, we're good to go!"

He shut the boot and hopped in the car, pressing the button to open the suntop. He'd removed the parcel shelf at the back, and Pess put his head up through the opening as they drove down the freeway, ears flapping in the wind. He was enjoying the cool breeze.

When they got back Edgeworth let Pess out and followed the dog into the garden, approaching the swimming pool with some trepidation.  
The cover of the pool was off and folded in one corner, and the sunlight reflecting off the water was nearly blinding - even with his sunglasses on. But lifting up his glasses and shutting one eye, he could see that the pool water was clear, right down to the bottom. No debris, not a twig or leaf to be seen. Even the grouting between the blue tiles lining the sides of the pool was clean, an abandoned toothbrush lying on the decking betraying how this had been achieved. He scanned the length of the pool, looking for Gumshoe, but he kept being blinded by the sun. He put his sunglasses back on again, and it was then that he caught an eyeful of the Detective.

He was on his knees with his overalls stripped down to his waist, his torso bared to the sun, and he seemed to be screwing together some large pieces of metal with a look of intense concentration on his face. He was a little sunburnt on his broad, muscular back, which was covered with a sheen of sweat. Dark moles dotted his skin, showing he worked in the sun like this frequently, and Edgeworth's eyes followed the movement of angular shoulderblades beneath supple skin as the Detective steadied the chunk of metal and began turning the screwdriver.

What were those pieces of metal anyway? He seemed to be surrounded by them...

The penny dropped.

"DETECTIVE!" Edgeworth bellowed, running for the gate.

"Whoa!" Gumshoe dropped the screwdriver and jumped up, looking around. "Mr. Edgeworth! You're back already?"

"And a good thing too - what the hell is all this?" Edgeworth gestured at the metal parts scattered around Gumshoe on the decking.

"Oh, that? It's your pool motor, boss. It's broken."

"Well of course it's broken, man - you just took the whole thing apart!"

"Huh? N-no!" Gumshoe said hastily. "I just took some bits off it to find out what was wrong with it. It wasn't filtering the water properly."

Edgeworth looked at him suspiciously.

"So what's wrong with it then? It was serviced last spring, it shouldn't just break like that."

"Uh, well, it looks like the capacitor's gone. This bit," Gumshoe pointed at a black piece of casing.

Edgeworth crouched down to examine it. It was all a pretense, really - it looked fine to him, and to his chagrin he knew that if it was broken he probably wouldn't be able to tell. Though the Detective wasn't particularly good at making things work, he was a dab hand at identifying when something was broken. Usually because he'd broken it, but Edgeworth would give him the benefit of the doubt on this one, just this once.  
"So what are you going to do about it, then?" he asked, standing up again.

"Well, the pool shop will be open now - I can go get a new one, no worries! Trust Go-Go Gadget Gumshoe," Gumshoe tapped the side of his nose with a wink. "I'll get your pool up and running by midday, boss - you can count on that! So whaddaya think?" he nodded at the pool. "Clean as a whistle, huh?"

Edgeworth didn't reply for a moment - now the momentary panic over the dismantled state of his pool pump had passed, he was allowing himself a second look at the Detective. Now they were facing each other, he realised that the tatty greatcoat Gumshoe normally wore hid a stocky man with lean, sinewy muscles traced from hard work rather than time put in at the police gym; though for all his obvious masculinity he didn't have a lot of chest hair. It was fine, and where it wasn't plastered to his skin with sweat it curled, leaving whorls on his chest that begged to be twisted around a finger. He smelt a little of chlorine, and had a few bits of leaf stuck to his upper arm in a line, indicating he'd had his arms in the pool water several times while cleaning it.

"I'll scrub all the decking too, once I've put the pump back in!" Gumshoe added quickly, misinterpreting the silence for disapproval. "And I'll-"

"No, no, it's clean!" Edgeworth snapped out of his reverie. It was just as well his sunglasses hid the fact that he'd been staring. "You've done a good job."

Damn, he'd accidentally paid the Detective a compliment - he hadn't meant to let that slip out. He was impressed with the state of the pool, but there was no need to lay it on thick.

"Aw, shucks!" Gumshoe rubbed the back of his head bashfully. "That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me, boss."

"It was a one-off," Edgeworth said dismissively. "Now, I want that pump back in one piece by the time I've finished my cup of tea - then we're going to the pool shop to buy that..." he fished for the word, "capacitator."

Gumshoe opened his mouth to correct him, but in an unusual display of foresight thought better of it.

"You take your coffee black, don't you?"

Gumshoe blinked, processing the question. Then he grinned.

"Sure do! With a big spoon of sugar."

"Right." Edgeworth disappeared into the house.

Gumshoe had half-reassembled the motor by the time Edgeworth came back out with a tray. On it was a cup of tea, a plate of biscuits and a large mug of coffee. It had taken him a while to find the mug and its accompanying packet of coffee beans. He'd had the gift forced upon him by Godot months ago, in the hope he too would come to understand the way of the roasted bean. But meeting the man had cemented his determination to never succumb to the call - for fear his speech would degenerate to similar coffee-shrouded conundrums. However, he had still held onto it - it didn't feel right to dispose of it, and in this case it had come in handy. At least the Detective's simple tastes required no messing about with milk or double cream on his part.

The look of sheer joy on the Detective's face at the sight of the mug and accompanying biscuits gave him a bizarre, and he suspected misplaced feeling of satisfaction. Such a small thing brought such delight, it seemed.  
Edgeworth put the plate on the table next to the pool and sat down on the bench beside it, taking a bite out of a bourbon biscuit.

"Thanks, sir!" Gumshoe drained his coffee mug in a single slurp, the sound making Edgeworth wince.

"Yeow, that was good stuff!" he declared, thumping the mug back onto the table and making Edgeworth's china teacup rattle.

"Good coffee beans are wasted on you," Edgeworth grumbled. "You're meant to sip and savour, not slurp and swallow."

"Aw, really? But if you drink it all at once, you get the whole experience mashed into a coupla seconds - double the flavour, I reckon."

"I'm not even going to attempt to understand why that makes sense to you."

"Each to their own, huh, boss?"

"I suppose."

Gumshoe knelt down over the motor again, reaching one hand up to grab two bourbon biscuits.

_Oh, he is not..._

The two biscuits disappeared into the Detective's gaping maw, whole. Louding crunching followed, Gumshoe's jaws working overtime to masticate the chocolatey load.

"You regress further towards your caveman roots with every passing day, Detective," Edgeworth said sourly.

"Mmf?" Gumshoe only had half an ear for the insult; he was fitting the cowling to the top of the pump, having removed the broken capacitor from the side of the cover.

He had to bend right over it, pushing the cowling against his body as inserted the screws into the bottom to hold it all in place. His rear end was up in the air, and the back of his overalls was wet from where he'd been sitting on a damp patch of decking. It clung to his buttocks and left absolutely nothing to the imagination, the fabric tight where muscles were taut. Shoved towards him like that, Edgeworth couldn't tear his eyes away - they hungrily traced the contours of what he had to admit was a fine example of a behind. Hidden beneath a dirty greatcoat, it had gone unappreciated until now. He had been missing out, it seemed. His fingers twitched - they wanted to reach out, grab and squeeze.

_Damn it, man - what is wrong with you? Stop this!_

Reflexively he picked up the teacup next to him as Gumshoe straightened up - an attempt to occupy his grabby fingers. By the time Gumshoe turned to face him he was sipping his tea, feigning nonchalance. His cheeks felt a little warm, but that was down to the hot weather. Really.  
"That's all ready to go!" Gumshoe nudged the motor pump with his foot. "Just need the icing on the cake now," he hefted the broken capacitor in his hand with a chuckle.

Now that the Detective's distracting posterior had been removed from his sight, Edgeworth looked down at the reassembled pump, and a thought occurred to him.

"The capacitator's on the top... why did you have to take the whole thing apart to figure out it was broken?" he gave Gumshoe a piercing stare.

"Uhhh," Gumshoe stalled, tossing the capacitor from hand to hand. "Well, y'see, it's, ah... logical!" he threw that in - he'd heard Edgeworth say that word a lot. "Yeah, there's a totally logical reason why I did that..."

"There's no 'Gumshoe' in logic, Detective. In retrospect, I don't think I want to know. Forget I asked."

"But this is definitely broken!" Gumshoe held up the capacitor, one wire trailing in the wind. "You need a new one for sure, sir. We should get to the pool shop - once I've got that it'll be all go from here!"

"Very well," Edgeworth sighed.

Gumshoe untied the straps of his overalls from around his waist, hooking them over his shoulders. They covered up most of his chest, though he hadn't bothered to put his t-shirt back on so Edgeworth wasn't completely disappointed. He duly ferried Gumshoe to the pool shop. The Detective seemed to know the shop owner quite well and even managed to haggle a discount for the replacement part. Though it was still quite expensive.

"Are you in here often?" Edgeworth asked him as they left the shop.

"Nah, the guy used to work in the Lost Property office down at Criminal Affairs before he opened this shop - he owes me a few favours so I was able to get you a real good deal!" Gumshoe said proudly, holding up the bag containing the new capacitor.

"As long as it works..." Edgeworth said dubiously as they got into the car.

"Sure it will!" Gumshoe laughed. "You just plug it in and it works - oh, gotta make sure it's the right way round though, or it'll blow the place up."

"You... speak from experience?" Edgeworth's question came out a little strangled - he was already envisaging the wreckage.

"Well, let me put it this way, pal - once you've done it once, you'll never do it again!" Gumshoe winked.

Edgeworth found he was suddenly gripping the steering wheel much harder than he needed to as they drove out of the carpark.  
Back at the pool, Gumshoe plugged the capacitor in place, then reinstalled the pump in its rightful place beneath the decking. As he was about to plug the pump back into the mains, Edgeworth announced,

"I've some weeding to do. Down the garden. I'll be back shortly-" the gate clanged and he was halfway down the path at a near-run.

Gumshoe blinked. Didn't the prosecutor pay a gardener to come and do the weeding? Still, he plugged in the pump and checked everything one last time.

"I'm gonna switch it on now, boss!" Gumshoe shouted.

Edgeworth was standing at the opposite end of the garden, watching the exercise through the binoculars he'd gotten out of the shed. When Gumshoe yelled, he ducked behind the shed which was going to act as his blast shield against the impending explosion. Pess was circling around him in confusion, wondering what was going on.

Through the binoculars he saw Gumshoe flick the switch and he flinched.

There was a short pause.

"It's working!" Gumshoe whooped. "Yeeeah!"

In the distance Edgeworth could hear the sound of the pump chuntering away to itself. He stood up, feeling a little foolish. Composing a casual air, he bent down and lifted a suitably large looking weed from the flowerbed - heavens, it really did need weeding - and walked back down the path. On the way he passed the painted wooden struts of the gazebo he'd ordered, still tied around the middle with binding tape and awaiting construction. Perhaps he could trust Gumshoe with that after all.

However, when he went to deposit the weed in the compost bin near the pool gates he caught a strong whiff of chlorine - and to his dismay, Gumshoe was upending the chlorine bottle over the pool with gay abandon, whistling as he worked.

"Detective, are you trying to poison my pool?!" Edgeworth demanded, hurrying into the pool enclosure. "Leave off that chlorine - that's meant to last all summer!"

Gumshoe paused, at which point the stream of liquid issuing from the bottle was reduced to a trickle, then a drip. It was all gone.

"Well, when you first open a pool this size for the summer, you're meant to add a ton of chlorine," he tried to explain, shaking the bottle but no more came out. "Not safe otherwise."

"That was a four gallon bottle!"

Gumshoe fished a ratty piece of paper out of the pocket of his overalls, studying it.

"For your size pool, boss, that's what you need in there at the start of the spring," he said, showing the prosecutor the table on the paper. He'd circled the pool size, and sure enough, it read 4 gallons.

"Hmph. I won't be swimming in it tonight, then, will I?" Edgeworth was a little disappointed. The last time he'd had the pool cleaned, he had just left the company to it - he knew how to modify the chemical balance using the testing kit he'd bought, but he hadn't realised all these extra things needed adding at the start of the spring.

"Oh, I dunno," Gumshoe nodded at the pump. "It's a pretty hefty pump you've got there, pal - it won't take long to disperse that stuff." He wiped his forehead, unhooking the straps of his overalls and tying them around his waist again. "I'll recheck all the balances in a coupla hours and see how things are going, but that's it really - the pump and filters will do the rest. So what's the time, huh?" he asked, with an air of excitement.  
Edgeworth glanced down at his watch.

"It's half past eleven," he said, not looking back up again because he'd caught sight of a large, roughly sewn patch on the inside leg of the Detective's overalls. The stitching was coming away and the patch flapped - through it he could see silk; boxer shorts, with something printed on it. He could see a few white letters, and the yellow bits meant it was probably The Simpsons.

"Yes!" Gumshoe punched the air with jubilation. "I said I'd have your pool up and running by midday, didn't I, boss?"

"You did," Edgeworth said absently. Gumshoe's leg had moved, and more of the picture was in view. He was right - it was Homer Simpson, eating a doughnut.

"So what's next? I'm in Action Man Mode!" Gumshoe saluted. "Put me to task, Mr. Edgeworth - I'm ready for anything!"

"Are you now." Thinking about it, Gumshoe and The Simpsons boxer shorts made a lot of sense. He probably had a whole drawer full of different ones. Now his mind was down this particular track he seemed to be having a bit of difficulty diverging from it, the concept summoning a reminder of the particularly fine posterior he had been presented with earlier. His fingers twitched again.

"What about your gazebo, boss? I could build it, no worries!" Gumshoe was impatient, full of energy.

"Hmm. Actually..." Edgeworth was beginning to realise that this apparent fixation he was developing was something best humoured into submission. "You could do the weeding. There's a lot of weeding to be done."

Perhaps if he stared at the Detective's rear for long enough, he could learn to ignore it.

"Sure I can," Gumshoe said cheerily. "My Mom always said I had green fingers!"

"Make sure it _is_ just weeds you're pulling..." Edgeworth trailed off meaningfully. "In fact, I'll work at the garden table and keep an eye on where you're weeding. I've a good crop of annuals coming up and I don't want you decimating them."

"Aw, way to trust a budding gardener, boss," Gumshoe said sadly.

"Consider it trust enough that I'm letting you anywhere _near_ my borders."

"Hey yeah, that's true. I'll do a good job!" Gumshoe promised. "Your flowerbeds'll be as weed-free as my cupboard is of food!"

Edgeworth felt a twinge of guilt at that particular analogy. When it got nearer lunchtime he'd see about ordering some sandwiches from the delicatessen. Perhaps. Providing the Detective didn't pull up any of his chrysanthemums.  
So it was, that Edgeworth took his laptop out into the garden and sat at the wrought-iron table on the grass. He worked on his research paper, and Gumshoe worked on the flowerbeds. It was a caper almost on a par with deer-stalking - Edgeworth was relying heavily on his touch-typing abilities the majority of the time, eyes more on Gumshoe than on the computer screen. But whenever the Detective turned around to ask him about a particular plant he would suddenly conjure up a journal article from the pile on the table, feigning intense study.

"This one?" Gumshoe pointed.

Edgeworth glanced up from his paper.

"Weed."

"This one?"

"Weed."

"This one?" Gumshoe held it up.

"That's a daffodil, you moronic idiot," Edgeworth despaired. "How can you not recognise one of those; there's thousands on every roundabout in the city!"

"Aw, sorry, pal," Gumshoe said to the daffodil bulb, setting it back into the ground. "You didn't have any flowers on so I didn't realise."

_He talks to plants...?_

Then again, he spoke to Pess, so he could hardly comment. But Pess understood and responded - talking to plants was just... Gumshoe.

"If it has spearlike leaves it's a bulb, so leave it alone," Edgeworth informed him.

"Gotcha!" Gumshoe flashed him a thumbs-up sign.

"What on earth convinced your mother that you had green fingers when you don't know one end of a plant from another?"

"Aw, well, I used to make sandcastles outta her potting mix y'see. Ah, those sure were the days!" Gumshoe gently patted the earth around the replanted daffodil bulb, then shuffled along on his knees to the next bit of the flowerbed.

Edgeworth just turned back to his computer screen, shaking his head. Scanning over the text, he realised what he had written didn't actually make any sense. He glanced sideways. The Detective had leaned forward on his elbows to get at a weed right at the back of the flowerbed, and the stretching action had pulled his overalls tight across his bottom, showing the outline clearly. Not big, not small, and certainly trim - he'd almost call it pert, though that was too feminine a term for as masculine a rear as that. Gumshoe tossed the weed over his shoulder and carried on. Edgeworth forced himself to go back to the paragraph he'd just written, but his eyes would inexorably drift, time and time again. He ended up deleting the whole thing in frustration.

_This isn't working... if anything, it's making it worse. Why didn't he just turn up in his trenchcoat so I could've remained ignorant?_

Perhaps he needed to get away from there for a while.

"Pick a sandwich filling," he called out.

"It's lunchtime?!" Gumshoe threw another weed over his shoulder, his enthusiasm sending it high in the air. "Whoopee!"

"-!" Edgeworth saw where it was going and dived to catch it but missed by a few inches.

FLUMPH. The weed, roots and all, crashed into the keyboard of Edgeworth's laptop, dirt showering everywhere.

"DETECTIVE!" Edgeworth thundered, pointing at the laptop.

"Argh! Sorry, boss!" Gumshoe leapt up and rushed over, hoisting the plant off the keys and using one of the straps of his overalls to brush the dirt away. "I got all hyped up."

"Over what?"

"Uh, over sandwiches," Gumshoe mumbled, wiping down the computer screen.

"What sandwiches?"

"The ones you... oh," Gumshoe realised, his face falling. "I'll, uh, go do some more weeding, then..." he trudged back towards the flower beds.

Edgeworth felt a little uncomfortable. He shifted, scratched the side of his nose, went a slightly pink with the realisation that he was actually feeling rather guilty indeed and this wasn't normal. Then he called out,

"They're not sandwiches. They're baguettes. So pick a filling, already - I need to phone the delicatessen before the lunchtime rush to place the order."

Gumshoe paused, unable to quite believe what he'd just heard. He turned, and the enormous grin spreading across his face gave Edgeworth a bizarrely warm feeling inside.  
"Boss..." Gumshoe was tentative, barely able to keep the excitement from his voice. "Could I... could I have," he almost dared not say the word, as if expecting an instant 'no', "...prawns?"

Edgeworth paused, then he couldn't help but smile with amusement.

"If it brings you that much joy, then yes, I suppose you can," he said.

"WHOOOOOOOYEAH!" Gumshoe rushed back to the flowerbeds. "I'll have these beds done by the time you come back, boss - all of them!"

He was like a weeding machine, picking out the bindweed and the dandelions and flinging them onto the steadily growing heap beside him in a stream of foliage. Pess was sniffing the pile of weeds, but he got clonked on the head by a flying dandelion. He shook the dirt off his head and went to sit at Edgeworth's feet, looking across at the Detective and then up at his master, as if to ask, 'What is this crazy man doing?'. Edgeworth was staring at the expanding weed pile, genuinely amazed. Who would have thought a humble prawn baguette could have such a motivational effect?

So he took his laptop back inside (it smelt of potting mix now) and phoned the delicatessen, ordering two prawn baguettes and one BLT. As he was on the phone he could see Gumshoe from the lobby window - he was just a beige blob on the opposite side of the garden now, and yet Edgeworth could imagine his posture in every detail, as if imprinted on his eyelids. And on the drive to the deli the increasing distance from the house just seemed to sharpen the memory and make imaginary tangents more inviting. Switching on the radio was no help thanks to the retro Top 40 - as if mocking him, it was playing Groove Armada's "I See You Baby".

He walked into the delicatessen and picked up his order - they knew him well there, and he was charming to them as usual. They served a fine selection of goods and he had been persuaded to try the Italian chicken last time he had visited. It had been excellent, and he told them so.

"You're looking a bit hot and bothered, Mr. Edgeworth," the shop assistant said to him. "Sure you don't wanna try the cold duck and hoi sin special? It's pretty good!"

"Just busy, just busy," Edgeworth tried to sound casual, but the shop assistant picking up on his red face had made him panic. He picked up the paper bags with the baguettes in, heading towards the door. "I'll try that next time, perhaps?"

"Right you are!" the shop assistants waved goodbye to him as he left.

Edgeworth drove back, eyes on the road but thinking of the options left to him. He knew that once the weekend was over Gumshoe would be back in his trenchcoat - that combined with the usual hectic work week would probably do the trick in breaking the chronically looping thought cycle he seemed to have settled into. And yet, although he was trying to stop thinking about it, he knew deep down that it was logic trying to override an altogether more primal urge. He couldn't unsee what he had seen, and he was beginning to accept that in actual fact, he didn't really want to - nor would he object to seeing more of it.

 _Damn him - it wasn't supposed to work out like this. And he doesn't even_ realise.

Gumshoe was a necessary nuisance - he wasn't supposed to be anything more, and the fact that he had such an alluring rear end and other distractingly attractive features was bordering on the unfair. It was partly the Detective's masculinity that made it all so inviting, but it also meant that nothing would ever come of it.

Edgeworth sighed, pulling into the drive of the house. Yes, nothing would ever come of it, so he decided to just give in and enjoy it while it lasted. Provided he could survive the weekend without giving into his grabby fingers, the Detective would never know - so there was no harm in it.  
He came back to weed-free flowerbeds. Gumshoe's forearms were caked with potting mix, and he had big dirty smears across his forehead and on his cheeks where he'd wiped his sweating face. But he had a child's grin on his face - a happy sandboy indeed. His eyes widened at the sight of the two baguettes Edgeworth was carrying on a plate.

"Whoa! Th-those... those are both for me?" Gumshoe asked, unable to believe his eyes.

"No. One's for Pess," Edgeworth said, face deadpan.

"Oh, right," Gumshoe seemed to readily accept this, and picked up one of the baguettes. "Here, boy!" he called to Pess, who came trotting up. Gumshoe held out the baguette-

"Pess, here!" Edgeworth motioned to his collie, who immediately walked straight past Gumshoe to sit by his side. "Good boy," the prosecutor fished out the dog biscuit he'd pocketed on his way out of the house, throwing it to Pess. "Don't accept food from strangers."

"Aw, but I'm your pal, right, Pess?" Gumshoe asked, waggling the baguette enticingly in Pess' direction, but Pess was happily chewing on his biscuit and stayed by his master's side, tail thumping the floor.

"Will you stop waving that baguette around and eat it, Detective?" Edgeworth sighed. "Of course they're both for you."

Gumshoe winked.

"I knew that, sir - I was just playing along. Heh, bet you thought I wasn't, right?" He sat down at the garden table and took a massive bite out of the baguette. "Mmmm!"

"Given that sarcasm is normally wasted on you unless employed via sledgehammer, it's not an unreasonable conclusion," Edgeworth sat down and started munching on his own BLT. As expected, it was delicious.

"Thanks for this, boss," Gumshoe said around another mouthful. "I feel like I've eaten a whole weekend of meals in a day! You sure treat your labour well."

"Well, you appear to give value for money. To an extent."

"That's my motto!" Gumshoe saluted.

"Too bad you don't apply it in the workplace as well."

"Aw, I don't?"

"It amazes me that you've turned out to be a vaguely competent handyman, given how hopeless you are as a Detective."

"Guess that's why I haven't bought a prawn baguette since year dot, huh?" Gumshoe chuckled, taking another bite. It was nearly all gone, and Edgeworth was barely half-way down his BLT.

"Well, at least you'll have something else to fall back on if I give you the sack."

Gumshoe choked on a prawn.

"S-sir?!"

Edgeworth snorted, he'd just taken a bite out of his BLT so he couldn't laugh out loud.

"Hey, don't make jokes like that!" Gumshoe protested. "That's my noodle money you're toying with, pal!"

"Would you honestly miss the pittance that the DA Office pays you?"

Gumshoe paused.

"I'd miss working with you, boss," he said. "When the Chief sacked me last time, I told 'em I'd work for free if they let me come back." He sighed. "They weren't having any of it, though. If you hadn't got me reinstated, well, I dunno. Dunno what I'd do, really."

Edgeworth's stomach knotted. That warm feeling was coming back again, and though he recognised it as silly sentimentalism, he couldn’t seem to help it.

"Well, I, er, that is to say," he floundered.

"I like doing this kind of thing," Gumshoe gestured at the garden, "but there's nothing that gets me more fired up than chasing leads on a case!"

"Oh, absolutely," Edgeworth seized on that - anything to focus on to try and ward off the pink tinge he could feel coming over his face. "I certainly would be thoroughly bored and frustrated if I were to stay at home all the time."

"Right enough!" Gumshoe agreed, picking up the second baguette. "I love my days off but you can have too much of a good thing, huh?"

"It's the hectic days in the office that make the days of quiet all the more peaceful, I would say."

Pess rested his head on Edgeworth's knee, and Edgeworth reached down to stroke him. The black parts of the collie's fur were warm from absorbing the sun. It had been a long winter - it was good to be sitting outside under a blue sky like this, though he knew this hot fluster coming over him wasn’t entirely weather-induced.

"You know, Mr. Edgeworth, you never used to take any days off. Until... you know," Gumshoe made a gesture. Edgeworth knew what he was referring to.

"There was no need, Detective," he replied, finishing the last of his BLT with his free hand while still making a fuss of Pess, scratching behind his soft ears. "I didn't particularly enjoy the company of my own thoughts - I saw little point in confining myself with them longer than was necessary. Now, however, I appreciate the value of having time off now and again." He smiled. "Perhaps I'm getting old."

"Hey, what does that say about me?"

"Getting old doesn't apply to you, Detective - you have the mental age of a six year old the vast majority of the time."

Gumshoe opened his mouth to protest, but Edgeworth held up his hand.

"Objection overruled - you were caught redhanded making paperplanes out of the pile of journal articles I gave you for shredding; ergo, you don't have a leg to stand on."

"Aw, guilty as charged," Gumshoe chuckled. “But seriously, though, boss – I reckon it’s good you’re taking some days off now. I don’t get so many pay cuts ‘cause you’re in a good mood!”

“Hm, really? How out of character – I’ll make sure I’m more consistent in future. Come to think of it, I never did submit that pay review request after the paper planes incident…”

“Uhhh, you’re fine, boss,” Gumshoe said hastily. “Oh, hey, you know,” he added, changing the subject, “I think that HR guy nearly fell off his chair when I handed in your first annual leave request – aw, you should’ve seen his face, it was priceless!”

Edgeworth smirked.

“I can imagine – still, I am as entitled to annual leave as the next person. Though I doubt I’ll ever use my full entitlement.”

"I bet going to visit Spain and Italy made you wanna slow down a little too, huh? They have all their siestas and stuff." Gumshoe sighed happily. "A two hour nap after lunch - now that's the life."

"And waste half the day? I think not. I like to be at least productive on my days off. Unlike some people I could mention - you and Wright both have a penchant for sleeping through your leave days."

Gumshoe flashed him a thumbs-up sign.

"Mr. Wright's a man after my own heart!"

"I sincerely hope not. For both your sakes."

Though Edgeworth had to admit, he wasn’t much of a morning person either. He slept better these days, at least. Though he rather suspected his dreams were going to be more down the line of fantasies tonight. His latest point of fixation was Gumshoe's hands, his attention drawn to them by the Detective’s earlier gesture. It was if a switch had been flipped in his mind today - he had never looked at them closely before, but now found that despite being covered in potting mix, he actually rather liked them.

The Detective's dirt-smudged fingers were stubby and calloused, pressing firmly into the bread as he tucked into baguette number two with gusto. There were fine dark hairs on his fingers and on the back of his hand, and a pale white scar ran across his knuckles, made wavy by the tendons standing out beneath the skin, hardened by manual work. They contrasted so drastically with his own, and he wondered what they were like to touch. Probably rough and ready – like Gumshoe himself.

“So can I build your gazebo now, boss?” Gumshoe chowed down the last of his baguette. “I’m all tanked up and ready to go!”

“Have you built one before?”

“Nah, but you can do anything with instructions!” Gumshoe said with conviction.

“It’s from IKEA. You have been warned.”

“Oh wow, really?” Gumshoe’s eyes lit up. “I’ve always wanted something from IKEA – like, I dunno, a kitchen or something. They look so swell in the catalogues, y’know?”

“They’re a pain to fit. Even the joiner couldn’t figure out where the screws were meant to go.”

After the kitchen fiasco he’d vowed never to buy anything from IKEA again, but the gazebo had caught his eye and he couldn’t find one he liked anywhere else. He’d been putting off calling in the joiner to assemble it because of how complicated it had been last time. However, he was starting to believe that Gumshoe would be worthy of the challenge.

“This way,” he picked up the empty plate and nodded down the path.  
While Gumshoe was sizing up the piles of painted white struts, Edgeworth went into the shed and retrieved the enormous packet of screws, nuts and bolts, along with the instructions.

"I'll need my drill set for this," Gumshoe said to him when he returned. "I'll just nip out to my old jalopy and get it outta the boot."

That was good - Edgeworth didn't have one of his own. He'd never needed one before now; after all, he normally got in contractors to do this kind of thing.

The Detective ran back to his car, and while he was gone Edgeworth tried to work out how to open up the instructions - they looked like a booklet, but when he tried to flick through it, it turned out it was actually a single, massive sheet of paper. He couldn't seem to find a corner by which to open it out, so in the end he gave it a frustrated shake and the whole thing flopped open. He looked at it in dismay. Holding it up, he could see Gumshoe coming back down the path through the massive hole that had been eaten in the middle of the paper.

"We have a problem," he said to the Detective.

"Wow, that's a whole lotta hole!" Gumshoe said, peering at the edges. "Looks like you've got a colony of paper mites in your shed, boss."

"Heavens, will they get into the house?" Edgeworth said in alarm. He had so many old books and papers stored in there - to lose those would be a disaster.

"They can do - but they take a long time to do that kind of damage," Gumshoe took the instruction book from him. "How long have you had this, pal?"

"Er..." Edgeworth wouldn't meet his gaze. He had been putting this off for rather too long, it seemed. "Since last spring."

Gumshoe gaped.

"Why didn't you get me to come over before, pal? I could've had it up for you in a jiffy!"

"Er, well, you're here now, are you not?"

Gumshoe prodded the wood with the toe of his boot.

"It's well packed an' all, but if you leave wood out like this without treating it, it can go kinda rotten," he said, squatting down to unwrap the polythene sheeting around a bundle of two-by-fours. He ran his hand over it, then brought one of the struts up close to his face, examining it. Then he stood up, lifting one of the struts and placing it cross-ways on the pile.

"Guess we'll find out!" He stomped on the strut with his foot, and Edgeworth winced at the cracking sound.

"Nope. No good," Gumshoe shook his head, kicking the splintered strut to one side. "If I built that, it'd fall on your head, boss."

Edgeworth was staring at the broken strut - the Detective had split it with a single strike. The man really was built like a tank; even if the strut hadn't been rotten, he rather suspected it would've still split under that kind of force.

"Were you a karate master in another life or something?"

"Huh?" Gumshoe blinked. "Oh. Hey, that would be pretty cool if I was!" he reached a hand out, and Edgeworth handed him the instructions.

"Why are you bothering to read those when we no longer have the appropriate building materials?" Edgeworth asked, for Gumshoe was studying the parts list while chewing on one thumbnail.

"Well, it's still doable if we buy new wood," Gumshoe murmured, a frown appearing on his face as he studied the finished construction diagram. "The roof slats and whatnot will still be alright. It'd be a real shame not to make it when you've bought it and everything."

"But you're missing half the instructions!"

"Ahhh, but we have a picture!" Gumshoe showed it to him.

"But you just said you've never built one before - you can't make an entire gazebo using a picture," Edgeworth had a very bad feeling about this.

"Sure I can!" Gumshoe said easily. "I made the Blue Badger from the Police Chief's drawing, so I can make a gazebo from this - no worries."

"I do _not_ want a wriggling plywood gazebo in my garden!"

"Aw, but it wouldn't be plywood, boss - that'd go down like a house of cards at the first breeze. We'll need teak, or something. I'll build it solid - you can count on that," Gumshoe winked. "Trust Gadget Gumshoe, he'll save your gazebo!"

"I'm not so sure it needs saving," Edgeworth said weakly, but he still drove Gumshoe to the hardware store.</i>


	2. Jack of All Trades, Master of None

Gumshoe went straight to the timber section, and while he was standing there talking to the shop assistant Edgeworth was wandering up and down the aisles, marvelling at the plethora of DIY tools available. He had never been in a hardware store before, so he regarded it as an educational experience from his perspective.

He picked out a peculiar-looking oddment from one of the tubs on the shelf, examining it. It was a screw, but it had an odd, arrow-shaped nut at the end that seemed to have springs inside it. Pressing the wings of the arrow closed them in around the shaft of the screw. Where one would use something like that, he had no idea.

"Mr. Edgeworth?"

He jumped, nearly dropping the screw.

"That's a toggle bolt, that thing," Gumshoe said helpfully.

"I know that, Detective," Edgeworth feigned disdain, tossing the bolt back into the tub. "Who wouldn't know a toggle bolt when they saw one?"

He wasn't fooling anybody, but Gumshoe had learned from experience not to comment.

"I've ordered the wood, boss - you just need to pay for it and they'll deliver it right to the house!"

Edgeworth sighed, digging out his wallet. His credit card was taking a fair bashing today.

They drove back to the house, and the wood arrived shortly after. By this time it was about half three, so Edgeworth went and made some more tea and coffee - he didn't really know what else to do with himself. He disliked feeling so ineffectual, but the wood was tied up in large bundles that he would undoubtedly pull a muscle trying to carry. He kept himself trim, but he had to face facts - he didn't have Gumshoe's physique, and lifting such bulk was beyond him. So he watched out the window as Gumshoe and the trailer driver carted all the wood into the garden. Gumshoe seemed grateful enough for the teabreak victuals, though, wolfing down some more bourbon biscuits as he sorted through the array of nuts and bolts.

"Hey boss, do you wanna test the pool while I'm doing this?" Gumshoe asked. "Means I don't have to stop midway to go check the chemical levels."

"I suppose I could, yes." In reality, he was glad there was at least something he _could_ do.

_I need to learn some DIY. Knowing less than Gumshoe is actually physically painful._

Though he had a feeling that it wasn't something so easily learned from a book, unlike law.

"Rightio, ta!" Gumshoe got a handful of bolts and dropped them into his pocket, grabbing the last biscuit off the plate.

"I haven't had one yet."

Gumshoe froze guiltily. Then his hand snuck out and deposited the biscuit back on the plate. He turned to look at Edgeworth, an apologetic look on his face. Edgeworth raised one eyebrow at him, amused.

"Do you honestly think I'd want that now you've had your grubby paws all over it? I've a whole packet still in the house - I was just making a point."

"Oh..." Gumshoe's hand hovered. Edgeworth pushed the plate towards him, a smirk on his face. The biscuit was gone in a trice.

"Are bourbons your favourite, or something? You never go this mad over the rich tea ones I have in the office."

Gumshoe grinned a chocolatey grin, and he nodded, munching away.

"Fair enough," Edgeworth shrugged, picking up the plate. "On you go - there'll be more waiting when you come back, but don't eat them all at once or you'll make yourself sick."

"Wahey, thanks, boss!" Gumshoe picked up his powerdrill, slinging the cable over his shoulders. "I'll get right on this while you're pooltesting. It'll be the best damn gazebo you ever did see!"

"As long as it doesn't fall down on my head, that's all I ask," Edgeworth replied, going back into the house to find more bourbons.

The packet of biscuits was fairly large, so he ate two himself and tipped half the packet onto the tray. He had a dim childhood memory of leaving out mulled wine and biscuits for Santa Claus, waking up in the morning to find it had all gone, and for some bizarre reason this had reminded him of it.

Gumshoe was already joining bits of wood together on the patch of grass where the gazebo was to stand. Edgeworth left the biscuits out on the garden table, then went to test the pool. The chlorine levels were still a little on the high side, but the pump was chugging away and everything else was within normal limits, the water crystal clear.  
Having done this, he decided to take his laptop back outdoors again, now there was no longer the threat of a flying weed assault. He could've worked inside, where all his papers and notes were, but he was curious as to how this gazebo was going to take shape when the Detective had a half-chewed set of instructions to work with. Perhaps earlier on in the morning he would've observed with the expectation of eventual failure, but he was no longer sure on that count, and indeed as he worked on his paper, so Gumshoe was constructing a sturdy hexagonal foundation for the building. He drove struts deep into the ground to peg the flooring in place, and was marking bits of wood with the pencil he normally had behind his ear.

Occasionally he would consult the instructions, but he seemed to know enough of the basic principles of woodworking to fabricate things unaided. Though at one point he had joined some pieces of wood together only to begin pulling them apart.

"What are you doing? You just built that," Edgeworth asked.

"It was upside-down," Gumshoe chortled. "I'm always doing that - I shoulda lived in Australia, then it'd be alright!"

"That... really wouldn't make a difference."

"Huh? How come?" The Confused Gumshoe look, temporarily banished by his DIY calling, had made a return. "It's on the opposite side of the world, so it'd be upside down, right? That's why when you flush the john over there, the water goes the other way 'round," he declared with conviction.

Edgeworth opened his mouth, about to explain, but realised that it was in fact utterly pointless.

"Did you read that in a tabloid?"

"Sure did!"

"Oh, dear."

"So... it is upside down, right?"

"For the sake of an easy life, why not?" Edgeworth shrugged. "If you want it to be upside down, it can be upside down - I'm sure the Australians will be none the wiser for your mental inversion of their home soil."

Gumshoe frowned, hoisting up a large strut that was twice his height.

"So why don't they fall off, then?" he asked, propping it into the hole he'd just dug in the ground.

"They have anti-gravity boots, Detective. Didn't you realise?"  
"Wow, they do? Hey, that makes sense!" Gumshoe said excitedly, hands around the strut and pushing it so it sank into the ground. Then he paused, thinking about this. "Aw, boss," he turned, a sad expression on his face. "You were having me on, weren't you?"

"Of course not. How could I make up as ridiculous a reason as that? Only somebody really gullible would fall for it," Edgeworth said, trying to sound nonchalant but he couldn't quite keep the smirk off his face.

Gumshoe half-believed him for a moment - Edgeworth saw his face change from amazement, to bemusement, to realisation, then the Detective gave a howl of laughter, doubling over.

"You got me good, boss!"

"Every time, Detective. Every time."

And this was how it went for the afternoon. Edgeworth normally got so frustrated when Gumshoe chattered at him while he was trying to do work. He would snap an irritated comment in the Detective's direction, or even send him out of the office. But here, out in the sunshine, he found that even though he was only writing a sentence or two at a time, it didn't bother him so much. It was partly because even when Gumshoe wasn't talking, he found he wasn't giving the paper his full attention anyway. Gumshoe's hands were constantly busy - drilling, handling a spade, lifting wood, fitting bolts, fishing another biscuit from the plate. And equally, he was changing posture all the time; bending, hoisting, kneeling, getting back up again. 

Edgeworth had never seen him so dynamic before - though the Detective was prone to charging into things, literally, and liked nothing more than to be out doing fieldwork, this was a little different. Or perhaps he was just paying closer attention. In the same way, he was listening a little more carefully to what Gumshoe was saying - the Detective appeared to have realised Edgeworth was genuinely interested in what he was doing, and was giving him a rundown on why he was fitting this bit of wood to that plank. Though most of his reasons seemed to be 'It'll fall down otherwise'.

"You're a bit of a trial and error kind of handyman, aren't you, Detective?" Edgeworth said dubiously.

"Best way to learn, pal!" Gumshoe grinned. "Means you eventually build stuff that doesn't fall down. This might not look pretty solid right now, but once I put the roof on it'll be safe as houses!" He slapped his hand against one of the struts he'd just put in, and it wobbled.

 _Right, that's it - I am not entering this gazebo without a hard hat._  
However, he said nothing, letting Gumshoe get on with making sure it didn't fall down. Later on, he realised it was starting to get dark. The clock on his laptop said it was getting towards 6pm - time for tea.

There was a dull thud, and Gumshoe let out a cussword.

"Detective?" Edgeworth looked towards him, to find Gumshoe had his thumb in his mouth, one eye screwed shut in a pained expression.

"Gog my fumb," Gumshoe said around it, holding up the hammer with his other hand.

In the dim light as dusk descended on the garden, Edgeworth could see something dark running down the thumb Gumshoe was sucking on, trickling down onto his wrist.

"You're bleeding!" he exclaimed, hurrying forward.

Gumshoe took the thumb from his mouth, looking at it. 

"Ah, bugger," he grumbled. It was split down the middle and bleeding profusely. "Couldn't see where I was aiming the hammer - aren't I a clever Dick, huh?"

"Don't just stand there staring at it, man!"

"Oh yeah," Gumshoe put it back in his mouth again.

"No, no, NO!" Edgeworth bundled his laptop under one arm, seizing the Detective by his other wrist. "Sucking on it is not going to help when it's bleeding that much - come inside, I'll patch you up." He dragged Gumshoe into the house, then realised Gumshoe was still holding onto the hammer.

"Put that down," he ordered. "It's too dark to see out there and my lighting system doesn't stretch that far down the garden - you won't be able to do any more on it tonight."

"Aw," Gumshoe looked crestfallen, putting the hammer on the dining table. "But I wanted to get it finished for you, boss." Blood was still running down his hand.

"You can finish it tomorrow - it's still only Saturday you know." Edgeworth was rummaging in the cupboard under the sink, looking for the first aid kit. It had somehow migrated right to the corner so he had to reach further in to get it. He shuffled carefully backwards to avoid bumping his head on the U-bend of the sink plumbing, and as he turned to look up at the Detective, he realised Gumshoe had been watching him.

"Why do you have a first aid kit, boss?"

"Doesn't every household have one? Oh," he said in exasperation, "you're dripping blood all over the tiles! Come here, put your hand over the bench - at least that's easily wiped."

"I guess," Gumshoe shrugged, holding his hand out over the kitchen bench while Edgeworth opened up the first aid kit. "I dunno, I just can't imagine you ever doing anything dumb enough that'd mean you needed one, y'know?"

Edgeworth gave him an odd look.

"Don't you ever notice me wearing the odd sticky plaster?" he asked, digging out the Steri-Strips and alcohol swabs.

He was always cutting himself, in actual fact - when one worked with paper as much as he did, paper cuts were a perpetual occupational hazard. Not to mention the other things he did from time to time. Fortunately Gumshoe hadn't been in the room when he'd had that accident with the fruit knife - that had been messy.  
"Guess I never noticed!" Gumshoe chuckled. "I'm always bashing myself up in some way or another, so I s'pose I don't notice other people's cuts and bruises, huh?"

"You are notoriously accident-prone. There are days when I wonder if letting you into my office is such a wise thing, given you've managed to damage yourself with just about everything inside it." 

"I'm sure it wouldn't be so bad if you weren't throwing most of that stuff at me, boss."

"Well, it's hardly my fault your dodge reflexes are poor," Edgeworth replied flippantly, tearing open one of the swabs.

"They're getting better, though, right? You missed me with that paperclip dispenser last week."

"Yes. I need to modify my technique, it would seem. Now mind out, this'll sting," Edgeworth said, taking the Detective's hand and immediately applying the alcohol swab.

"YEOOOOOW!" Gumshoe snatched his hand away. "Whoa, that nips pretty bad!"

"Don't be such a child," Edgeworth tutted, grabbing it back again. "Do you want your hand to get all infected?"

"Aw, but Mr. Edgeworth-"

"Shush, and hold still."

Gumshoe's hand was rough to the touch, and warm, and so large compared to Edgeworth's own. The pad of his thumb was hardened by a callus - it was no wonder it had split open under the hammer strike, and was already beginning to colour with bruising. The blood was still welling up in the split, and smeared all over both their hands as Edgeworth gently wiped the site clean with the alcohol swab and closed the split up with Steri-strips. He was reluctant to let go, but to hold too long would probably alert Gumshoe that something was amiss.

"You should be more careful - you're always trying to do things too quickly," he chided the Detective, letting go.

Gumshoe looked at his hand - it was still bleeding a little, but now the ends of the cut had been pushed together the pressure was causing a scab to form. "Hey, that's a pretty neat job, boss - you should've been a doctor instead of a DA!"

"I suppose both jobs involve dealing with the aftereffects of other people's clumsiness," Edgeworth said blithely, packing away the first aid kit.

"I'm sorry I couldn't get the roof on tonight, boss," Gumshoe apologised. "When I come back tomorrow, I'll have it done!"

"Come back?"

"Uh..." Gumshoe was confused. "I am coming back tomorrow, right? You said..."

"You don't have to leave. You can stay the night."

"Huh?" Gumshoe looked at him, not quite sure if he'd heard right.

"I've spare bedrooms aplenty. Be my guest."

"Uh... oh! But, I, uh," Gumshoe stammered. "I couldn't, Mr. Edgeworth - I don't wanna bother you, and I don't have nothing, ah!" Edgeworth was always correcting his grammar. "I mean, I don't have anything with me, like, you know, sleep stuff, night shirt, that kinda thing."

"You can sleep in your boxers, can't you?"

"Uh, I guess I could," Gumshoe paused. "Uh. Yeah. I could. Wait... hang on."

Edgeworth froze, realising what he'd just said, and before the Detective could arrive at the same conclusion, he jumped in with,

"You, er, seem the type to have that kind of thing."

Gumshoe processed this, then broke into a grin.

"Wow, you're a pretty good judge of character, Mr. Edgeworth!"

_Phew._

"So, hey, if I can't do any more on your gazebo, is there anything you need done in the house?" Gumshoe asked. "If I'm staying over I may as well do everything I can, huh?"

"Well, it's dinner time now," Miles replied. "After tea, perhaps."

"Alrighty, how about I make-"

"No."

"Aw, but I can make real good-"

"Detective, I never thought I'd hear myself say this under any circumstances, but you are not required to make yourself useful for every waking hour of the day. I will make the dinner, because I suspect letting you loose in the kitchen will not guarantee that the end result is actually edible."

Gumshoe looked a little sad, but Edgeworth was resolute. Perhaps the Detective was an acceptable cook, if he had ingredients other than weiners and noodles at his disposal, but it was probably a 50-50 chance that that the opposite would be true, and he had no desire to hedge his bets. And besides, it was a chance to show the Detective that he wasn't completely incompetent in matters of the household. He was already planning the meal in his mind - haute cuisine would be wasted on a stomach like Gumshoe's, so hale and hearty would probably be the way to go.

"Do you like Italian food?" he asked. "Pasta okay?"

Gumshoe immediately brightened up.

"Mmm, sure is!" he rubbed his stomach. "Wow, I can't wait to see what your cooking's like, boss!"

His excitement massaged Edgeworth's ego no end.

"If it matches up to my own exacting standards, I'm sure it'll more than exceed yours," the prosecutor smiled. "Now sit," he pointed at the sofa. "See what's on TV if you want."

"Oh hey!" Gumshoe looked at his watch. "It's nearly time for the rerun of this morning's Pink Princess episode!"

"You want to watch that?" Edgeworth feigned scorn. "Fine, the remote control is yours," he picked it up off the bench and handed it to him.

Gumshoe grasped it and paused, looking Edgeworth in the eye with a grin.

"I'll turn the volume up so you can hear it from the kitchen bit, yeah?"

Edgeworth looked away.

"No need, Detective - my hearing is perfectly adequate."

There was a chuckle from Gumshoe's direction, then he went to sit on the sofa, but before his rear hit the cushions Edgeworth shouted,

"Wait!"

Gumshoe jumped up, turning round.

"Boss!" he saluted.

"Er," Edgeworth looked at him. "We're not at work - there's no need to take it that far."

"Haha, sorry, Mr. Edgeworth," Gumshoe said sheepishly, scratching the back of his head. "Force of habit, huh?"

"I suppose, by rights, I shouldn't keep calling you Detective, either," Edgeworth was thoughtful. "Therefore I am just as much a creature of habit, I suppose. Anyway... Dick," the word sounded a bit alien on his tongue. 

Gumshoe looked a bit uncomfortable as well, he could see. 

"Anyway, Detective," he tried again.

Gumshoe visibly relaxed. 

"Those overalls of yours are filthy," Edgeworth continued. "Please remove them before you plant yourself."

Gumshoe looked down at them, then back up at the prosecutor, who had a deadly serious expression on his face.

"Uhh, M-Mr. Edgeworth," he stammered, "I've just got my boxers on underneath these, ah, it'd be a bit, kinda like-"

"Boxer shorts don't bother me, Detective. Muck all over my sofa does."

"Oh. Um. Right." Gumshoe unhooked the straps of his overalls, pulling them down.

Edgeworth made a show of averting his eyes, sensing that the Detective seemed a little self-conscious, but he stole a brief glance. And was caught. The Detective was stepping out of his overalls, head up, watching him. He had a pink patch of skin on either cheek, but he still completed the motion, picking the overalls up off the floor. Now he was standing in his grubby t-shirt, which had a hole towards the hem, and his Homer Simpson boxer shorts.

"As long as you don't mind, boss," he said, standing up and draping them over one arm in order to fish the TV remote out of one of the pockets.

"Give those to me," Edgeworth held his hand out. "I'll put them in the wash. They'll be dry by tomorrow morning."  
Gumshoe handed them to him, and as he took them he caught a strong whiff of chlorine. He bundled them straight in the washing machine, and having been duly stripped Gumshoe sat on the sofa, switching on the TV.

Edgeworth stood in the kitchen area, chopping tomatoes and spring onions while his eyes flicked between chopping board and TV. The Pink Princess was fighting the Evil Bailiff, who had been resurrected in the previous episode via an ancient ritual that had been accompanied by some well-integrated special effects. The series had state-of-the-art CG and made clever use of camera angles to convey the action. Despite Sal Manella being a thoroughly odious man, Edgeworth could not deny his skill as a director. The storylines weren't particularly engaging - they were child's fare after all - but every now and then there would be a rather cunning plot twist, for which all the groundwork had been laid in the other, more mundane episodes. One had to watch them all to truly appreciate the whole, he thought, and though the content was simple there was more than enough subtext to keep an analytical mind going. Manella made subtle reference to matters topical, disguised beneath a layer of childish fantasy. 

However, all of that appeared to go completely over Gumshoe's head.

"Get up, Princess - you can't lose now!" he yelled at the TV. "You show him what you're made of!"

And sure enough, the Pink Princess pulled herself upright despite the mortal wounding she had received at the hands of the Evil Bailiff's spear. As she always had done, and always would - because that was what made children's TV. But in spite of himself, Edgeworth couldn't help but share a little of Gumshoe's jubilation as the Pink Princess flapped her wings and took to the skies, summoning up her steed in a storm of flower petals.

"Yeah, way to go, pal!" Gumshoe cheered as the Pink Princess used her very last energy crystal (she really didn't have any more this time. Edgeworth had been keeping track.) This took the form of an air spirit, and at last the tables were turned on the Evil Bailiff.

Edgeworth suddenly realised the butter he was melting in the pan was now a spitting puddle and he needed to put the onions in quickly before the whole thing caught fire. He hurriedly turned the heat down and tossed in the diced spring onions and garlic, stirring them around with the spatula and tipping in some red wine. The pan with the pasta in was bubbling away nicely. It would be ready soon.

When he next looked up, Gumshoe was making jabbing motions with his fists in the direction of the TV. 

"Hurr, you give it to him - an uppercut, hah!"

The air spirit had just sent the Evil Bailiff flying across the clearing with a mighty blow. There were only a few minutes to go till the end of the episode. Would it be a two-parter, or would the Pink Princess home in for a final attack?

Edgeworth added the mince to the pan, stirring it to break it up. It browned quickly, and he added some herbs and seasoning.

"Huh?"

He almost didn't need to be watching - Gumshoe's confusion made it pretty clear what was happening. The Evil Bailiff was laughing - he was covered in wounds, and yet he still had one last ace up his sleeve.

"Whoa, The Judge showed up!" Gumshoe exclaimed.

Edgeworth stirred the pasta with one hand, eyes transfixed on the TV. The Judge was supposed to be dead!

TO BE CONTINUED...?

"Augh!" Edgeworth cried in exasperation. "Every time!"

"What's that, boss?" Gumshoe turned.

"Er," Edgeworth coughed. "Every time, I nearly forget to add the oregano before putting in the tomatoes." He reached for the herb bottle, sprinkling some oregano into the bubbling bolognaise mixture.

The Pink Princess credits rolled up, the familiar ending theme playing.

"Doo doo da dee da doooooo - catch you next time!" Gumshoe sang along. "Wow, what an episode, huh?" He turned around on the sofa, climbing up so he was kneeling on it to look over the counter at what was cooking. "Hooo boy, that's looking good!" He breathed in the smell, eyes closed.

A hand planted itself in the centre of his face, pushing backwards.

"Nose _out_ of the food. It'll be ready soon - patience."  
The Detective's tummy rumbled audibly over the bubble of the bolognaise. Edgeworth was actually fairly hungry himself, and though the pasta was still slightly al dente he took the colander down from the hook above the hob and drained the pasta over the sink. It would soften up a little with the sauce over the top anyway.

"Detective?"

"Boss?" Gumshoe was standing right behind him, and Edgeworth nearly dropped the pasta pan on the floor.

"Good God, man, don't _do_ that!" he turned to glare at Gumshoe, who backed away, his bare feet shuffling on the tiles.

"Oops, sorry!" Gumshoe apologised. "Just thought you could use a hand?"

"Plates," Edgeworth pointed with his free hand at the cupboard below the kettle. "Cutlery," the drawer next to the sink, "napkins, next drawer down, and glasses," he pointed at the glass-fronted cupboard next to the kettle. "All over there," he nodded at the table.

"Gotcha, gotcha, and gotcha!" He was halfway to the cupboard when Edgeworth said,

"Wash your hands first."

"Heh, wash your paws!" Gumshoe chuckled. "That's what my Mom always told me."

"Probably because they were constantly mucky. Look at them - potting mix under your fingernails, I bet."

"Guess some things never change, huh?" Gumshoe said cheerily, washing his hands over the sink.

While Edgeworth added some butter to the pasta pan to melt it into the spaghetti, Gumshoe retrieved all the items. The prosecutor was watching him out of the corner of his eye to make sure he didn't drop anything. As the Detective crouched down to get plates out of the cupboard, Edgeworth noted that despite being a big man, the Detective had fairly lean muscles on his legs. The action of squatting made those muscles harden beneath the fine, dark hairs covering his shins, and Gumshoe laid his hand on one knee as he looked inside the cupboard, pushing it down into a kneel as he bent sideways to look on the second shelf. He couldn't seem to find the plates.

"They're at the front. Under your nose."

"These?" Gumshoe pulled one out, holding it up with a questioning expression on his face.

"Yes."

"But... they're..."

"Square, yes. And?"

"Oh." Gumshoe shrugged, getting two out.

"Have you not seen a square plate before?" Edgeworth asked, tipping the bolognaise sauce into the pan.

"Nope!" There was a clatter of cutlery as the Detective fished out two knives and two forks. "Plates are round in my neck of the woods, boss."

"Well, it could just as well be a round plate. But there's something aesthetically pleasing about a pile of spaghetti bolognaise on a square plate. You'll see soon enough. Oh, and put those back," he gestured at the two knives Gumshoe had put on the topmost plate. "They're butter knives."

"Are they?" Gumshoe examined one, holding it close to his face. "But they're real big - why just use them for butter? They'd be great for pasta!"

"That's not what they're for, Detective. It is called a butter knife, therefore you use it for butter. The proper dinner knives are in the middle compartment of the cutlery tidy."

"Aw, okay," Gumshoe tossed the butter knives back into the section he'd found them in, getting out the dinner ones Edgeworth had pointed out.

He carried everything over to the table.

"Sit," Edgeworth ordered, coming over with the pasta pan and a spaghetti spoon.  
He served up without flicking a single drop of sauce, twirling the spoon around as he deposited the spaghetti on the plate to make an intertwining spiral of pasta. He'd made enough for three people, and Gumshoe was given the lion's share.

"Don't you want more, boss?" Gumshoe was gawking at the size difference between his portion and that of the chef's. He had his napkin tucked into the top of his t-shirt, all ready to start eating.

"I don't have a cavernous black hole for a stomach, so no, I don't." Edgeworth put the empty pan in the sink and got the parmesan cheese out of the fridge, along with a jug of iced water.

"Oh yeah, smelly cheese!" Gumshoe said gleefully on seeing the tub in the prosecutor's hand. "I love that stuff."

Edgeworth put a light sprinkle on his own meal and handed the tub to Gumshoe, who put a liberal heaping on top of his pasta.

"Wow, boss, what a masterpiece!" Gumshoe hunched down in his chair so he was at eye level with his pasta tower. "Now that's what I call hottie cuisine!"

"Haute, Detective," Edgeworth corrected him. "You mean haute. French, for high."

"Aw, I never was good with all that froggy stuff. So what is it again? Haughty!" Gumshoe mangled it merrily. "Haughty cuisine!"

"Just shut up and eat it, will you?" Edgeworth was fluent in French and this was really making him cringe.

Gumshoe somehow managed to stick his fork into a critical structural point in his pasta edifice, and as he twirled the fork the whole thing collapsed - fortunately it was a big plate, but the immaculate white surface was now smeared with bolognaise sauce. However, the Detective didn't mind at all - he got a big wadge of spaghetti onto his fork and shovelled it into his mouth. His eyes widened.

"Mmmaaah!" He frantically started sucking air through his teeth. "Hothothot-"

"Oh, for heaven's sake," Edgeworth got up and swiped one of the tumblers, filling it with water and handing it to the Detective. "A tot in a high chair would have better table manners than you."

"S'good though, boss," Gumshoe said thickly as he supped the water and swallowed his mouthful. "Real good!"

"Then slow down and enjoy it - there's no need to wolf it down like that. Let it cool a little."

To his surprise, Gumshoe did begin to take his time. He was a noisy eater - Edgeworth had been to Italy and the principle was that the louder one ate, the better the food was. If that was true, then the Detective was absolutely loving every mouthful. His munching was punctuated by "Mmm!" and slurps of stray spaghetti ends, his tongue darting out to retrieve bits of bolognaise stuck around his mouth. It was a rather disgusting and yet curious sight to watch, and though he tried to keep his eyes on his food, the sounds the Detective was making summoned decidedly non-food-related thoughts.  
Despite having double the portion and slowing right down, Gumshoe still finished while Edgeworth was halfway through his. Edgeworth looked at the empty plate - there was still bolognaise sauce in little puddles here and there, and he saw a sneaky finger about to trail through it.

"Don't you dare do that at my table," he was about to say, but he paused, twiddling another bit of spaghetti onto his fork, looking down at his food but watching that trailing finger out of the corner of his eye.

Gumshoe popped the sauce-covered finger into his mouth, sucking on it. His finger moved in deeper with the action, then he pulled it out a little, then sucked it back in again, getting the last of the saucey goodness. Then with a pop it was back out again, swiping through another residue of bolognaise for a second helping. He was really enjoying it, sucking slowly, eyes vacant, focused purely on the taste. In a little, out a little...

The hot flush hit Edgeworth all over, but it seemed to settle right in his pants. He immediately reached for the water glass, keeping the illusion of a genteel sip but gulping down a large amount.

Then he said,

"Don't you dare do that at my table."

"Ah!" Gumshoe retracted his finger instantly, a guilty look on his face. "Aw, but that sauce is tasty - seems a shame to waste it. An empty plate is a happy plate, right?"

"I can't believe you're defending such an outrageous breach of polite table etiquette."

"Less washing up too, right?"

Edgeworth swallowed his last mouthful of pasta, looking across at the Detective. He had such an earnest look on his face - Edgeworth nearly laughed at it. The man was utterly irrepressible, that was the truth of it. 

"I'll get you some bread," he said, getting up. "That's the _polite_ way to clean up extra sauce."

He had to admit, this was probably the best bolognaise he'd made in a long time. Perhaps he would have some bread too.  
So between them they mopped up their plates, and Edgeworth drank two glasses of icy cold water. The hot flush subsided, thankfully. He needed to be more careful, or the Detective would notice. Then again, this was Gumshoe - the only things that didn't go sailing over his head were Edgeworth's well-aimed items of stationery.

Gumshoe picked up the empty plates, carrying them over to the sink.

"I'll wash up!" he said eagerly.

"Wash up?"

"Well, you made the dinner, right? So I'll wash up."

"But there's a dishwasher."

Gumshoe looked around him.

"Huh? Where?"

"Left of the sink - behind a panel."

Gumshoe saw the handle and pulled it.

"Whoa!" he exclaimed as it opened out to reveal the dishwasher behind it. "You really do have a swell kitchen, pal!"

"One does one's best," Edgeworth said modestly.

Pess came over to him, sitting at his feet and making a soft whining sound. He looked up at his master, eyes full of sorrow and ears drooped.

"Oh!" Edgeworth exclaimed, smacking his forehead. "Pess, will you ever forgive me?" 

By way of reply, Pess turned and looked towards the kitchen. Edgeworth immediately got up, edging behind Gumshoe (who was loading the dishwasher) to get to the fridge. Pess followed him as far as the strip separating lounge carpet from kitchen tile - he'd been taught from puppyhood that the kitchen was out of bounds. He sat there watching, waiting patiently, as Edgeworth got a large tub out of the fridge.

Pess had a little tiled feeding area to himself in front of the French doors, and Edgeworth went over to this and scooped some dry food into the empty bowl. Pess waited until he had stepped back, then darted towards the bowl, his tail wagging happily as he chowed down.

"You had biscuits earlier - anyone would think I never fed you," Edgeworth said, nudging the dog with his leg. "That was all just a show for the kitchen labour, wasn't it?"

Pess paused, looking up at him innocently.

"It was so."

Pess turned back to his dinner, tail wagging faster.

"You talk to your dog a lot, huh?" Gumshoe said, shutting up the dishwasher.

"Well, collies are intelligent - they respond to speech very well. He knows the names of all his toys, you know."

"Huh? He does?"

"Absolutely. You'll see later."

"Wow, does he do tricks too?"

"Nothing so gimmicky as that," Edgeworth said scornfully. "But yes, he does know a thing or two. Collies are working dogs - they need a lot to keep them entertained, so training them up is a way to keep their minds active."

He knew better than to try and get Pess to do anything when he was eating, so he went back into the kitchen and shooed Gumshoe out of the way in order to activate the dishwasher.

"Now then," he said, once it was gurgling away, "would you like dessert?"

It was as if Christmas had come early for the Detective - his eyes widened in wonder.

"Dessert?" it was barely a whisper.

"Well, it's just ginger cake."

Gumshoe nodded, and nodded, and nodded.

"Okay, I get the message." 

Edgeworth got the cake out of the pantry. It was Harrod's, imported from Britain like his marmalade and jam. He cut them both a slice and bent to get two cake plates from the cupboard, but a hand passed over his head, aiming for the cake packet, so he put the second one down. When he straightened up, one slice had gone.

"That's some strong ginger!" Gumshoe's voice was muffled - he was talking around the massive bite of cake he was chewing.

"Well, that's the way it should be."

They stood in the kitchen for a moment, eating in silence.

"So, boss," Gumshoe popped the second half of his slice into his mouth. "Is there anything you need doing indoors?"

"Hmm," Edgeworth chewed thoughtfully, then swallowed before speaking. "You could put my new wardrobe together, I suppose."

At least that would have an intact set of instructions.  
They manhandled the flatpacked wardrobe out of the garage - getting it up the stairs required a lot of jockeying, and for a brief period it was wedged between the walls of the stairway, but they got it up onto the landing eventually.

"Which room is it going in?" Gumshoe asked from the opposite end of the cardboard package.

"First room on the left."

Gumshoe nudged the doorhandle down with his elbow and backed into the room. 

"This is where you're sleeping, incidentally," Edgeworth added.

The decor was understated but tasteful. A single bed occupied one corner, covered by a magenta duvet, and the only other items in the room were a mahogany bedside table and a simply carved wooden desk in one corner, a comfy-looking chair pushed in beneath it.

"Aw, I think I'll get a good night's sleep in here, boss," Gumshoe said as they laid the package down on the floor. "That bed sure looks comfy!"

"I should hope so - it's an orthopaedic mattress."

"Ortho-what?"

"Never mind. Here," Edgeworth held out the instructions.

Gumshoe took them, opening them out to study.

"I'm going to check the chlorine levels again - it's a good evening for a swim," Edgeworth said, turning to leave.

"Hold on, boss," Gumshoe said, flipping over the instruction sheet. "I think I'm gonna need an extra pair of hands here - these are some pretty big panels and I won't be able to put all these screws in straight without someone holding the bits up."

"...Oh. Will it take long?"

"If you're helping me out, boss, I'll have it done in no time at all," Gumshoe turned the instruction sheet back over again. "It's a pretty simple design. Guess it kinda goes with the room, huh?"

"Yes, I suppose it does."

The truth of it was that the wardrobe in his own room had been getting full. It had been somewhat small to begin with, because there was no need for extra hanging space when the vast majority of his waking hours were spent working. Now he worked from home occasionally, because doing research at the office was punctuated by constant interruptions, and he went out with Pess more. There wasn't much room in that little wardrobe for casual clothes when there were seven suits and accompanying cravats hanging up in there. So he had ordered a new one from a catalogue - it was just a bog-standard one, nothing fancy, though he'd gone for a darker wood because he wasn't fond of pine. He hadn't given much thought to it, really - he never had people to stay, normally, so the spare room was just somewhere to put it.

Gumshoe opened the bag of bolts and screws, picking out the ones that matched with the first step of the instructions.

"So... what am I holding?" Edgeworth asked.

"These bits," Gumshoe gave him two planks of wood. "Join 'em together like a V."

Edgeworth tentatively put the ends together.

"Yeah, that's it! Now let me get this drill going..." Gumshoe unpacked the drill set, plugging it into the wall.

He was knelt by the plug socket, and Edgeworth realised that the boxer shorts the Detective was wearing were actually a little on the small side. Whether he'd shrunk them accidentally in the wash, or they'd been on special in Wal-Mart, Edgeworth wasn't sure, but when Gumshoe bent down like that they rode down on his hips to show paler skin than that of his torso. There were a few fine, curling hairs, and the top of his crack was just showing. Edgeworth felt a tickly sensation in his palms - the urge to cup his hands against those soft-looking cheeks was strong, and he changed his grip on the wood so his palms were pressing against it to try and quell the sensation. His fingers tapped against the varnished wood in a soft tattoo, drowned by the whine of the drill as Gumshoe powered it up.

"Rightio!" Gumshoe shuffled over on his knees and picked up one of the screws, fitting it into the premarked hole in the wood.

Edgeworth felt the vibration of the drill through the wood. It only made the tickly feeling worse.

"There we go," Gumshoe took the joined pieces off him, giving him another two that were exactly the same. "Same again."

Then he joined the two together.

"That's the base of your wardrobe - tada!" Gumshoe held it up, looking through it at his boss with a gleeful smile on his face.  
"Why, so it is," Edgeworth said, looking at it from end to end.

They were just mundane pieces of wood, yet when joined together they transformed into the beginnings of a functional piece of furniture. It was rather remarkable, really. Edgeworth had been out during most of the time the joiner had been fitting his kitchen - he'd come back to wood shavings all over the floor and a rather confused-looking tradesman, who was trying to work out why the premeasured kitchen cabinets weren't fitting where they were supposed to. It had all been such a hassle, and he had focused on the inconvenience rather than the whys and wherefores of the construction process. Yet Gumshoe made this particular flatpack endeavour look easy. Perhaps he could even try it himself.

"What's next?" he asked.

"Well, we need to build the actual wardrobe bit now." Gumshoe picked up the largest board, lifting it gently so the other pieces of wood on top of it slid off onto the polythene packaging. "Then we can put the bottom on."

"So that's the back, and these are the sides?" Edgeworth pointed at the narrower flats.

"You got it!"

"What screws are required?"

Gumshoe paused, realising what this meant.

"Uh," he put the board down. "Have you ever used a drill before, boss?"

"Of course," Edgeworth scoffed. "Is there a man who hasn't?"

"Ah, er," Gumshoe floundered, then realised it was no use. "Well, it's these screws here," he counted twelve long screws into his hand from the bag. "They've already made the holes but they don't go all the way in, you gotta drill the rest of it."

"Sounds fairly straightforward." Edgeworth held his hand out and Gumshoe deposited the screws into it.

He looked across at the drill lying on the floor. It had a big, red trigger. He could use that - easy. And it would give him something to concentrate on so he would stop staring at Gumshoe's rear.

"Hold the pieces together, then," he instructed, picking up the drill.

Gumshoe knelt down and propped the larger board up on one shoulder, manoeuvring the other one so it was stood upright beneath it. Then he carefully balanced the other board on top so the screw holes were uppermost, holding the whole thing steady by bracing it against one leg.

"Whack 'em in, boss!" he said.

Edgeworth knelt and picked up one of the screws, pushing it into the first screwhole. It was a snug fit. Then he lifted the drill, straightening up a little so he was directly over the hole. Placing one hand on the top of the drill like he'd seen the Detective do earlier, he inserted the drill bit into the crosshead of the screw, and pulled the trigger.

The drill whirred - he was doing it! He pushed against the screw, meeting resistance. It wasn't going into the wood. He pushed harder, but the screw was just turning and not moving. At that moment a large, warm hand covered his, a callused thumb inserting beneath his own and lifting it, pushing his whole hand an inch further down the casing of the drill. The tone of the drill changed and it abruptly sank beneath his hand - it was all he could do to keep it straight as the screw bored into the wood. There was a thunking sound as the head of the screw hit the bottom of the hole. Done.

Gumshoe took his hand away.

"You had your thumb on the reverse button, pal," he chuckled. "I do that all the time - it's in a bit of a dumb place."

Edgeworth looked at the top of the drill. Sure enough, there was a bright red button embedded into the casing.

"Hm, well, yes, that is a bit of a stupid place to put it," he mumbled, reaching for another screw.

It went in first time, but halfway down it stopped and wouldn't go any further. The drill made a horrible clunking noise and he let go of the trigger immediately, taking it away and peering into the hole to see what was impeding the screw's passage.  
"Tilted screw, that sounds like," Gumshoe said.

Edgeworth gave him a withering look - he had just realised this, having looked in the hole. The head of the screw was at an angle and had gotten wedged. At least he knew where the reverse button on the drill was now. He got the screw back out and redid it a little more slowly, pulsing the drill and checking the angle of it as it went in. It was going in tilted again. He removed it again, beginning to get frustrated. When he put it in for the third time, Gumshoe said,

"Try pushing against the tilt. That should realign it."

"You could've told me that before," Edgeworth said darkly.

"Well, I'll help if you get really stuck, but trial and error's the best way to pick this kinda thing up, pal. You gotta feel the position of the screw through the drill - by the time you do number twelve, you'll be a pro!"

Edgeworth had a feeling he'd be tearing his hair out by screw number three, but he was damned if he was going to give up now he'd started. And though it was nothing short of embarrassing, failing so spectacularly in front of the Detective, he realised that an appropriate level of continued ineptitude would get him more assistance of the hands-on variety.

So his fourth attempt was equally terrible. Gumshoe balanced the boards precariously against one knee to leave both his hands free, motioning to Edgeworth to move so that he was directly over the top of the screw hole for a better angled repeat. Then he reached over and placed his hands over Edgeworth's as the prosecutor reversed the drill to retrieve the screw.

"There, that's straight now - feel the resistance, boss?" Gumshoe asked, firmly adjusting the drill. "That's the screw about to bore a new hole - hold it steady, and it won't go down the old hole."

Edgeworth pulled the trigger, and the screw sank in neatly beneath his and the Detective's hands. 

"I see," he said.

Screw number three wasn't much better. Gumshoe was patient with him - work-roughened hands set him straight for that one too, and Edgeworth did a slightly better job of screw number four. But he was finding he didn't need to try particularly hard to be rubbish at it - screw number five went right through the side of the panelling and he wasn't entirely sure how he'd managed that.

"Aw, that's a bit harder to undo," Gumshoe said, looking into the hole. "But no worries, we'll make two new ones either side of it - that oughta hold it steady. Want to try?" He took the pencil from behind his ear, marking two crosses on the wood.

"Won't we run out of screws?"

"Nah, they always put extra ones in."

"Right..." Edgeworth placed the tip of the screw against the wood and applied the drill bit to the top.

"Take it slow and she'll be right."

This was harder - the drill was heavy to hold one-handed and keep steady. Gumshoe was there again, cupping his hands around the drill casing.

"I can do it," Edgeworth said, determined.

Gumshoe looked up from the drill, then let go of it. Edgeworth carefully applied pulses to the drill, the screw sinking deeper and deeper into the wood. He was knelt right over it, concentrating intently, but when he bent sideways to get at eye-level with the screw to make sure it was straight, his wrist changed angle slightly and the drill slipped out of the screw head - instantly his hand was seized, whipped out of the way, the drill bit biting into the wood next to the screw.

Gumshoe was gripping his hand tightly, his face pale.

"Heck, pal, that was close!"  
Edgeworth tugged the drill out of the wood, staring at the hole it had left. That could've been his hand. He went cold all over, heart beginning to pound. Gumshoe's hand was the only warm point of contact on his skin.

"...ah!" Gumshoe let go of his hand. "Sorry, Mr. Edgeworth - I didn't mean to grab you all of a sudden like that. I just saw it slip, and... yeah."

"For one normally so slow, you've got... quick reflexes," Edgeworth said faintly.

"Shit yeah - I don't think I ever moved so fast in my life," Gumshoe wiped a bead of cold sweat from his forehead. "But it was like it was all happening in slo-mo. Weird how time slows down like that, huh?" 

It felt like the blink of an eye to Edgeworth. His hands were beginning to shake a little.

"You alright, boss?" Gumshoe asked. "You look kinda white."

"I'm... fine. You're whiter."

"Phew, pal, if I didn't have a good ticker I think I would've carked it then and there," Gumshoe said fervently. "That was the fright of my life, I'm not even kidding. If you drill your hand, that's your tendons wrecked forever," he held out his hand, palm down and fingers spread, showing Edgeworth the messy knot of scarring between his thumb and index finger. "I was real lucky - I just missed 'em all, but I was in bandages for ages."

"With... this drill?" Edgeworth was still holding onto it, but looking down at it, it was no longer a simple hardware tool. It was a weapon.

Gumshoe nodded.

"The self and same."

"And you're _still_ using it?" Edgeworth said incredulously, putting it down carefully, as if it would bite him.

"Well, if I stopped using everything that ever did me damage, I would be walking to work every day and not touching a thing in the office, right, boss?"

"Hmm. When put like that, you wouldn't even be walking to work, Detective - you trip over your own feet."

Gumshoe snapped his fingers.

"Right enough! Well, then, guess I'd have to go in a wheelchair, huh? Now that'd be fun!"

Edgeworth shook his head, smirking.

"You'd crash the wheelchair." His heart rate was starting to return to normal.

"Probably," Gumshoe agreed. "Anyway, boss, reckon you can finish off that screw? It'll stay straight now you've put it in straight most of the way - and I'll get down on eye level with the next one so you don't have to."

Edgeworth looked at the drill dubiously. Miles Edgeworth, Prosecuting Attorney, should not be frightened of a mere piece of machinery. His eye drifted to the hole in the wood next to the screw, then to the screw itself. It was half in, and standing here he could see it was dead straight. No, he couldn't give up now.

So he picked up the drill, and got to work. And in the end, Gumshoe turned out to be right - by the time he got to screw number twelve, he had gotten the hang of it.

"There," he said with satisfaction, shaking the drill at his handiwork. "No flatpack can defeat the might of a prosecutor armed with a drill!"

"Pretty neat, Mr. Edgeworth!" Gumshoe nodded. "Now for round two," he picked up the next bit of wood.

Edgeworth had been so intent on perfecting his drill-wielding skills that he had temporarily forgotten the existence of the other side of the wardrobe. He had to do it all again? That was the problem with DIY - most things were symmetrical, requiring the need to repeat oneself.

Gumshoe turned to find that Edgeworth was holding out the drill.

"Uh... I'm doing this side then?"

Edgeworth said nothing, still holding it out.

"Ah, okay then," Gumshoe took the drill. "Well, your turn to hold it together, I guess."  
So they took it in turns - Edgeworth put one door on, Gumshoe put on the other, and then it was just a matter of screwing in the little brackets that would hold the shelves, and fitting the hanger rail.

"I'll bow out the sides of the wardrobe, and you can slot it in, pal," Gumshoe said, handing Edgeworth the hanger rail.

So he crawled into the wardrobe, which they had built lying on its side, and braced his hands and feet against the wall, grunting as he pushed the wood apart slightly. Edgeworth had to reach above him to push the rail into the slots, and he breathed in some of the Detective's cologne. It was cheap, acrid, and mixed with the smell of sweat, but there was something very Gumshoe-ish about it.

"Got it?" the Detective said quickly.

"Yes," Edgeworth straightened up. His back was sore now, having been bent over pieces of wood for the last two hours.

Gumshoe relaxed his arms and there was a click as the railing was fixed in place by the pressure of the sides. He rolled out of the wardrobe.

"And we're done! It was a good team effort, boss," Gumshoe nodded, well satisfied.

"It was indeed," Edgeworth said smugly. "Now we need to get it the right way up."

So between them they lifted the top end of the wardrobe. It was actually fairly light, just large and awkward. Their hands walked down the wood of the side panel as the wardrobe became more and more upright, so they were pushing rather than lifting, and Gumshoe hurried around to the other side to catch it in case it toppled the other way. That was when he noticed the problem.

"Aw, crap!" he exclaimed, looking up.

When tilted at an angle like this, the wardrobe was now taller than the ceiling.

"What?" Edgeworth queried from the other side of the wardrobe.

"It's not gonna fit!"

"Of course it's going to fit, Detective - it was measured before it was ordered."

"Yeah, it'll fit when it's standing up alright, but it's gonna get stuck halfway," Gumshoe hurried back to Edgeworth's side of the wardrobe and helped him lay it down. Then he got out his tape measure.

"So we're going to have to pull the whole thing apart again?" Edgeworth said in disbelief, glaring at the offending wardrobe.

"Ah-ha!" Gumshoe pressed the button on the tape measure and it shot back together with a snap. "Here we go, then," he pushed the wardrobe so it was on its back. "We'll lift from the back, then there's not as much height. It should just make it."

They began to lift, but when it was nearly upright there was a nasty scraping sound, and plaster dust showered down from the ceiling.

"I thought you said it would fit!" Edgeworth said crossly, brushing it from his hair.

"Oops, you've got fancy swirls on your ceiling," Gumshoe said, looking up. "Well, maybe not so many now." There was a large sweep of blank plaster now, where the wardrobe had scraped it. "That made it a little lower than I thought."

"You're putting those back on again tomorrow - I've spare paint in the garage."

"No problemo!" Gumshoe said cheerily, then between them they pushed the wardrobe the rest of the way upright, more plaster dust showering down.

"There we are!" Gumshoe shook his head vigourously to get rid of the bits of plaster in his hair, blinking more from his eyelashes. "Job done and dusted!"  
"Plaster-dusted, you mean," Edgeworth grumbled, brushing down his clothes.

They moved the wardrobe into its rightful spot against the wall - there were a good few inches of clearance between the top of it and the ceiling now it wasn't at a tilt. Looking it up and down, Edgeworth had to admit that it did go with the room. Now, however, his mind was on other things.

"Tea," he said with certainty. "I need tea, after all that."

"Wow, you sure are a tea addict, boss," Gumshoe grinned. "I've lost count of how many cuppas you've had today."

"It's good for you," Edgeworth replied absently as they headed down the stairs. He was making a beeline for the kettle.

"I read somewhere that it gives you cancer," Gumshoe commented, trotting along behind him.

"Coffee's worse," Edgeworth retorted. "Besides, everything gives you cancer these days - they once said butter was bad for you, so everyone switched to margarine, now they're saying margarine is as well, so to hell with it. May as well just eat what you want, I think."

"Heck yeah!" Gumshoe agreed. "Maybe I should go back to having a fried breakfast every morning - my doctor told me it was bad for me so I gave it up, but it sure was tasty."

"Can you afford a fried breakfast these days?" Edgeworth switched the kettle on.

"Uh..." Gumshoe thought for a moment, then his face fell. "Oh yeah. I guess that was why I followed doctor's orders for once. Actually, yeah, I don't even _have_ breakfast now. Damn, my doc would be proud of me!"

"I suppose I could stretch to a few rashers of bacon for breakfast tomorrow," Edgeworth murmured, hooking Gumshoe's mug out of the dishwasher.

"Aw, really?" Gumshoe said hopefully.

"I have to feed my guests, do I not?"

"Wow, I've been upgraded!"

"Hmm, think of it as bed and board."

Having made tea and coffee, Edgeworth placed it all on a tray with some more ginger cake and carried it over to the lounge.

"Sure you've got nothing else for me to do, boss?" Gumshoe asked, sinking onto the sofa.

"It's nine pm, Detective. For the sake of my neighbours, the answer is no."

Edgeworth went out to check the chlorine levels while his tea was cooling. Everything was in kilter now. The pool was ready for a swim.


	3. Undo-It-Yourself

As he reentered the lounge he could hear Pess growling, and looking for the collie Edgeworth found him in a deadlock with the Detective, playing tug o' war over one of Pess' toys; a piece of thick, knotted rope. Pess was crouched low, legs braced apart and paws imprinting the carpet as he pulled, shaking his head vigorously and making his collar jingle as he tried to jerk the rope out of Gumshoe's hand. But the Detective held on doggedly, the cords in his arm standing out with the effort - Pess had a lot of strength when he dug his heels in like that. Gumshoe would let Pess tug his arm forward occasionally, and the dog would shuffle back on the carpet, delighted to have gained some ground and renewing his efforts to shake his prize out of the Detective's grip. But then Gumshoe would haul his arm back, pulling the dog back across the carpet, paws skidding through the pile.

Edgeworth couldn't help but smile as he could tell Pess was loving it, though he did squat down and pull the coffee table out of harm's way, for Gumshoe's arm was being flung all over the place as Pess tried to tug the rope away. Edgeworth would've let him have it by now - that rope started burning one's hand after a while.

"I think he's met his match at last," he commented to Gumshoe, who grinned.

"He just brought this over and dropped it in my lap, pal - he's pretty good at saying what he wants, huh?"

Edgeworth nodded, sitting down and taking a sip of his tea.

"This is his playtime anyway. When I'm working late at the office I'll usually come home to find a pile of toys on my chair - making sure I haven't forgotten."

"Must be kinda hard getting up the energy to play with a dog when you're tired, boss."

"Well, one shouldn't keep animals if one cannot make the time for them," Edgeworth said loftily. "I have employed dogsitters occasionally during very busy cases, but entertaining Pess is actually quite cathartic. Let me demonstrate. Pess!"

Pess immediately let go of the rope, ears cocked and tongue lolling slightly from his exertions. His eyes were bright, playful, and he awaited command.

"Go and find Wright," Edgeworth instructed.

Pess immediately shot out of the room, paws thudding on the stairs a moment later. Gumshoe blinked in confusion.

"Mr. Wright?"

"Wait and see."

Pess announced his return with a loud squeak. He held a blue, spike-studded rubber ball in his jaws.

"Ah! I getcha," Gumshoe exclaimed. "Hey, wow, that's pretty cool - you can tell him to get you anything you want!"

"Oh, only if it's a toy of his. I've tried to train him to find other things with no success - he's very single-minded," Edgeworth took the Wright-ball from Pess, then squashed it under his foot. It emitted a drawn-out squeaking noise and Pess immediately tried to get it out from beneath his foot, but Edgeworth had a hold on it.

"Though let me tell you, Detective," he continued, "if you ever had need of a tennis ball, he's the dog for the job. He has this unerring ability to produce them from thin air. Even on walks we've never done before, he still manages to find one. And they're often disgusting. Aren't they?" he said to Pess. "Dis-gus-ting," he punctuated this with squeaks of the Wright-ball, and Pess began to bark. "Shhh now," he tapped Pess on the nose with one finger. "No need to get overexcited - it's late."

The collie quietened down, and made another attempt to get the Wright-ball out from under his master's foot, but Edgeworth whipped it up out of reach. Pess sat, watching its every move.  
"He loves squeaky toys to the point of hysteria, hence he's only allowed a few."

"Uh," a thought had occurred to Gumshoe. "Is there a Detective Gumshoe toy as well, then?"

"Oh yes," Edgeworth said airily, "he's been through a few of those. Well-chewed."

Gumshoe swallowed.

"Uh... guess it's a favourite, then?" he said weakly.

"Absolutely," Edgeworth smirked, throwing the ball to Pess, who caught it in his jaws. The collie lay down on the rug, chewing contently and producing the occasional soft squeak.

"You know, I used to think it'd be great to be a popular Detective - you know, like Columbo, or something. Now I'm not so sure it’s great to be the favourite..."

"You've got the coat for Columbo, but sadly I think there is a distinct lack of penetrating intelligence beneath your absent-mindedness."

"So if I thought about stuff more, I'd get chewed out less?"

"No, Detective, it's the thinking that sends you astray. That brain of yours isn't designed for such abuse."

"Guess that's why I leave all the thinking up to you, huh, boss?" Gumshoe chuckled, draining the last of his coffee.

"That's the way it's supposed to work, yes."

Though it frequently didn't, thanks to the Detective's innate ability to secondguess what Edgeworth wanted, and yet still manage to screw it up. But he no longer thought of this with irritation - more resignation. And besides, he was wasting swimming time.

"Now," he said, getting up, "the pool's ready to use, so I'm going for a dip. And as you've sweated and toiled over making it fit to swim in, it would be only fair to let you try it out as well, would it not?"

"Aw, that's real generous of you, boss - but I don't have any swimming trunks, and I can't really swim in these," Gumshoe looked down at his boxers, "or I'd have nothing to wear for tomorrow!"

_I can't believe that's a primary consideration - never mind the fact that chlorine would ruin them, or that they'd be highly likely to fall off..._

Not that he would object, Edgeworth realised.

"No need for any of that," he said hastily, "I have a spare pair of trunks you can use. Come, it's a nice evening; perfect for a swim."

Gumshoe was looking Edgeworth up and down, shaking his head.

"Boss, I wouldn't be fooling anybody if I said I could get my big butt into a pair of your swimmers."

"It's not bi-" Edgeworth cut himself off just in time. "Er, that is to say, it's not a problem. These ones are a little on the baggy side. I think they'll fit you."

"Guess I can try 'em on and see!"  
Edgeworth dug them out and left them in the spare bedroom for him to try. It didn't take him long to get into his own swimming togs: a pair of magenta Speedos. He could have opted for something more modest with the Detective around - he did have boardshorts - but part of him wanted to deliberately flaunt his masculinity after his cack-handed wielding of the drill. Needless face-saving, he knew; it wasn't as if the Detective would ever tell anyone. But damn it, he had pride. Though he could feel it slipping little by little whenever he looked at Gumshoe's scantily clad body - now he had been reduced to a near-constant state of awareness, with errant, dirty thoughts intruding on the fringes. The Speedos were as much to ensure he maintained his self-control as anything else - and if that failed, there was the monotony of laps.

The pool water was just at the right temperature as he slipped in, and it was wonderful to be swimming again - he had missed it over the winter, for the public pool was a total no-go area as far as he was concerned. Miles Edgeworth didn't share his lap space with anyone. Today, however, was going to be the exception - although he suspected that Gumshoe would probably be the type to splash away happily down one end of the pool, in which case he could just swim a shorter lap.

He turned onto his back, about to start a lap of backstroke, but for a moment there, that feeling of weightlessness and the soft lapping sound of water circulating through his ears gave him a feeling of contentment. Instead of moving off he floated, closing his eyes. He couldn't hear much over the water in his ears, but he could imagine the birds singing, and half opening his eyes the night sky was clear above him without a cloud to be seen, much as it had been during his morning walk with Pess. But now all the stars were out.

Eyes still half-closed, he looked sideways towards the house - to see Gumshoe standing there at the pool gate. He hadn't opened it - he was just standing there in his borrowed magenta boardshorts, one hand paused on the latch, eyes on him and an unusual expression on his face. One of contemplation, almost.

Edgeworth didn't move, made no sign of acknowledgement, allowing his eyes to fall shut naturally. If Gumshoe had opened the gate, he definitely would have heard it. But there was no sound. He was still being watched, and the idea of that made his stomach twist a little with excitement.

 _It's just idle curiosity,_ he tried to tell himself, to quell that feeling and stop it chasing further down.

But surely such observation would have been accompanied by a Gumshoe-style exclamation, of the "Wow, you sure look different in swimming trunks, boss!" variety? The silence was incriminating to an analytical mind currently residing, he was ashamed to realise, in the gutter.

He kicked his legs and sent himself into a backwards roll, feeling an even more incriminating change taking place underneath the fabric of his Speedos, and as his head broke through the surface of the water he heard the pool gate clang. The spell had been broken.

"They're not a bad fit, boss!" Gumshoe called out, pointing at his boardshorts.

"Glad to hear it," Edgeworth replied, treading water and making waves around him. The refractive properties of water could hide a multitude of sins, for which he was truly thankful. "Are you coming in, then?"

"Here comes the Superdive! Yeeeeeeha!"

Edgeworth saw it coming and propelled himself out of the way, ducking under the water to avoid the worst of the huge splash as the Detective cannonballed into the water.  
"There was no need for that!" he scolded when he resurfaced, but Gumshoe's dive had taken him so deep that he didn't come back up again for another few seconds, so the prosecutor's rebuke was wasted.

"Heck yeah, that was good!" Gumshoe shook his head violently, spraying water droplets everywhere. "Hey, fancy a game of waterpolo? I used to play that at school, it was pretty fun in the pool!"

"I don't have a ball," Edgeworth replied, pushing his wet hair out of his eyes.

"Easily sorted!" Gumshoe paddled over to the side and hopped out, dripping across the decking towards the house.

"Don't you DARE cross that carpet while you're dripping wet!" Edgeworth bellowed, and Gumshoe froze at the French doors, then turned and saluted.

"Alrighty, let's go for Plan B, then. Pess!" Gumshoe whistled. "Go get Mr. Wright - g'wan, pal!"

A moment later Pess appeared at the doors, and Gumshoe took the ball from his jaws.

"Tell him to get the Judge instead," Edgeworth called from the pool, realising what he was doing. "It's bigger."

So Gumshoe returned to the pool with a grey ball - it was round and shiny, rather like the Judge's pate. He threw it up, then closed his hand around his other fist and bumped it towards Edgeworth, who caught it one-handed with ease.

Another Superdive later and Gumshoe was back in the pool.

"Again, that was completely unnecessary," Edgeworth said sourly, lobbing the ball back to him.

"So here are the rules!" Gumshoe declared. "That compost bin's my goal," he pointed at it, "and that bench is your goal. If you let it past, it's a point to me! And if you can bump it back past mine, it's a point to you. Let's see if we can get a rally going, pal!"

"That's not proper water polo - you've just made those rules up!"

"Well, that's what we did at school," the Detective said stoutly.

"What, jump up and down in the pool like loons?"

"You'll see, boss - it's a real buzz once the ball's going! And you'll have a hard time beating me - I was the champ in fifth grade," Gumshoe said proudly, spinning the ball on one finger.

Well, he couldn't refuse that kind of baiting.

"Hmph," Edgeworth sculled backwards a little so he was in line with his goal. "I'll show you how proper water polo is played. May the best man win!"  
Gumshoe hadn't been bragging with his claim - high shots, low shots, even a few crafty ones rebounded off the side of the pool, he fielded them all and returned them. They'd managed a rally of twenty-five shots so far, and Edgeworth was having a tough job of trying to break through his defence, though he was managing to hold his own and had yet to concede a goal. Gumshoe lobbed him a high return, and he threw his arms down to propel himself up out of the water, reaching up to slap his wet hand against the slick ball, but there was a spin on it and it flipped over his fingertips. Desperately he pumped one leg down to get an inch of extra height and managed to bat it with his other hand - it was a clumsy return but Gumshoe had been wholly expecting a goal from that trick shot of his, so his reaction was delayed.

"YES!" Edgeworth roared his triumph as he landed back in the water, seeing the ball go right past Gumshoe's shoulder. "A hit - a palpable hit!"

Gumshoe trod water for a moment, grinning at him.

"Wow, nice to see you're enjoying yourself, boss!"

Edgeworth abruptly came to himself, realising he had just acted like an overexcited child in front of the Detective. How embarrassing - he'd gotten carried away.

"Hm, well," he said gruffly, looking away, "anyone would be satisfied, successfully returning a sneaky shot like that."

"That's a point to you," Gumshoe conceded with a wink, noticing the victorious smirk briefly crossing the prosecutor's face before Edgeworth managed to summon a look of indifference. "Guess I'll have to stop holding myself back, huh?"

"Do your worst, Detective - I doubt it will exceed my best," Edgeworth replied confidently, flicking back one of his wet bangs.

There was a glint in Gumshoe's eye - Edgeworth could see it from across the pool, and he responded to it, his body tensing and eyes fixed on the ball. They faced off, man to man, Gumshoe bringing his arm back with the ball in hand.

The next shot came at Edgeworth with enough power to make his hand sting as he returned it, making it clear that the gloves were off and it was no holds barred. The smack of palm against ball reverberated around the pool enclosure, the volleys fast and furious and water droplets flying in all directions. They leapt up like dolphins and crashed back into the water like whales, arms extended in semaphore signal to intercept and return the relentless rallies. Edgeworth had no time to think about how ridiculous they looked to the outside observer - all his energy was focused on keeping that ball out of his goal, on maintaining his advantage. He felt invigorated, alive, able to leap higher and reach further in his desire to win - and in the end the rediscovery of his youthful endurance was what won out over Gumshoe's power serves and trick shots. Gumshoe just blocked his final rally rather than returning it, and the ball landed between them.

"Phew, I'm pooped, pal!" Gumshoe panted, sinking back into the water. "You win - I guess I'm getting too old for this kinda stuff. But that was a blast!"

Edgeworth ducked underwater, throwing himself forward into a private little victory somersault. He felt full of energy, all of a sudden - he'd almost call it hyperactivity, though that was rather silly and most unbecoming of him. He popped his head back up, trying to keep the foolish smile off his face.

"Your proclaimed prowess is certainly not unfounded," he replied. "I had a hard time returning your shots." His palm and fingertips were actually starting to tingle a little now from the power with which he'd been slapping the ball back, the sensation reminding him of his earlier desire to grab and squeeze the Detective's rear end.

"That used to be my supertechnique," Gumshoe said cheerily. "The Gumshoe Spin Slam! But I'm pretty outta practice, I haven't played since school."

"Hm, well, as ex-captain of the Corpus College waterpolo team, I've certainly met a worthy rival." Edgeworth extended his hand. "Well-played, Detective."

"Thanks, boss!" Gumshoe shook his hand.  
The Detective's calloused skin was softened by the pool water, and the tingle in Edgeworth's hand eased at the warm contact. But as he let go, it returned, blossoming into an ache, a longing. They stood opposite each other, water running in rivulets down their chests and damp hair darkened down to almost matching colours under the pool lights. A breeze was beginning to blow, and now they were stood still Gumshoe gave a convulsive shiver.

"Hm, I suppose that's the weather's way of telling us we're not quite out of the winter yet," Edgeworth remarked, swimming over to the side. "Hot shower called for, I think. Agreed?"

Gumshoe followed him, hauling himself out of the pool.

"Sounds pretty good right about now," he said, taking the towel the prosecutor handed him.

"I'll go first - then you can have all the hot water to yourself."

Normally he would've let a guest go first - but he rather suspected that Gumshoe would use up all the hot water. Though admittedly he did have an additional, altogether more shameful ulterior motive.

After he'd finished, he called downstairs to the Detective,

"All yours. I'll be retiring now. Good night."

"G'night, boss!"

In the privacy of his own bedroom, with the door shut, he let the towel drop to the floor, listening as Gumshoe entered the bathroom next door. The Detective was heavy-footed, and Edgeworth heard him getting into the shower unit. He let his imagination do the rest of the work, and his body responded accordingly. The ache in his palms was now an ache all over, and he headed for the bed, his erection waving from side to side as he walked. It rubbed against the sheets as he got into the bed and he let out a sigh at the sensuality of it. But he didn't just want to wank himself off tonight, to the sound of Gumshoe showering next door, whistling away. He felt the need for something deeper, more thorough.

He reached in the drawer of the bedside table, thinking back to what had happened at the pool before. In his aroused state it was easy to entertain the possibility that a confession might prove fruitful after all. The idea made him go hot all over. But he couldn't be sure... he couldn't be sure. And yet, it couldn't hurt to be prepared. Well, it would, but it was a pain he wanted more than anything else right now. He poured lubricant over the vibrator, rubbing it up and down the length of it. He rarely used it, which was why it would be sore, and mechanical stimulation was a poor imitator of the real thing that he craved. But it was better than nothing, with a good enough fantasy to accompany it.  
The next morning Edgeworth awoke to a knock on his bedroom door.

"Boss?"

The best he could manage was a groggy sound halfway between a groan and "Yes?"

"I made you some tea - that Early Grey stuff you like. Can I bring it in?"

It took him a moment to process the question, and as his higher cognitive functions began to reawaken he was aware firstly of a dim ache in his rear, which was nothing new, and then of a tight sensation in his pants, which eventually translated into the realisation that he was suffering from an acute case of morning wood. But the puffy eiderdown comforter hid it from the observer, all evidence of his dirty activity the night before had been cleaned away, and he'd remembered to put his pajamas back on before flopping into bed - so the coast was clear.

"Mmm," he replied, and the door opened tentatively, Gumshoe popping his head around it to make sure it really was okay to come in.

Edgeworth had sat himself up in the bed, rubbing one eye. He felt rather tired - he would have happily slept some more. Gumshoe put the teacup on the bedside table and the prosecutor groped for it, co-ordination still a little clumsy. Then he realised something wasn't quite right.

"Where's the saucer?" he asked.

There was a pause.

"Oh yeah!" Gumshoe exclaimed. "I forgot about that bit."

"Typical, Detective - good intentions, half-baked execution," Edgeworth sniffed the tea. There was a hint of lemon. "You found where I put the lemon juice?"

Gumshoe looked proud of himself.

"Well, boss, you organise your kitchen in the same kinda way you do the office. Everything matches up, so I looked in the cupboard above the kettle and whaddaya know, there it was!"

"Hmph, anyone would think I was predictable." Edgeworth sipped the tea. There was a little too much lemon, but he could put up with that - it was hot, freshly made, and it chased away the residual fog of sleep. "Did you sleep well?"

"Uh, well," Gumshoe yawned, stretching. "You'll laugh at this, pal - I just couldn't seem to get off to sleep. And I was rolling around, and rolling around, and then I fell right outta the bed onto the floor, and bing! Out like a light. I reckon I'm used to a hard mattress, y'know?"

"Are you sure you didn't knock yourself out when you fell out of the bed?" Edgeworth hadn't heard anything go thud - but over the past year since his nightmares had stopped, he had turned into a deep sleeper.

"Heh, I did that once! But not this time," Gumshoe sat on the edge of his bed, bouncing up and down on it experimentally a few times. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure it was the mattress - if you did this on the one at my place, you'd bruise your butt."

"What the hell do you sleep on - bricks?!"

"You could say that, boss! One of the bed legs is busted, so I had to prop it up with a few. Anyway, yeah, so I had trouble getting off to sleep, and then I woke up really early for some reason. I guess it's being somewhere different that does it, huh?"

"Hm, perhaps. So what's the-" Edgeworth looked over at the clock radio on his bedside table. Blinked. Looked again. His face darkened, and he turned back to the Detective.

"It's seven am."

"Sure is! Shaping up to be a nice morning, too, pal."

"And what day is it?" Edgeworth asked, tone flat.

"Uh, it's... Sunday?" Gumshoe said, a little uneasy - he recognised that tone, and it didn't bode well. He got off the bed, backing away a little.

"WHY THE HELL ARE YOU WAKING ME UP AT SEVEN AM ON A SUNDAY?!" Edgeworth roared. "Out! Out of my room, Detective - and come back at a more reasonable hour!"

"Sorry, boss!" Gumshoe's voice faded down the corridor as he exited at top speed. The door swung shut behind him.

"Oh, the injustice," Edgeworth whimpered to himself, wriggling back down in the bed. He wasn't one to waste a day lieing in, but when one had late nights, as he did, to be woken up before 8am on two consecutive leave days was just unfair.

However, despite having evicted Gumshoe from his room, sleep failed to reclaim him. Again, it was the Detective's fault, he decided, for the sight of him sitting on the edge of the bed in his boxer shorts did absolutely nothing to make his early morning erection subside.  
So he grudgingly left his bed, opening the curtains. Gumshoe had been correct - though the light was pale due to the early hour, it was going to be a sunny day. He could see the half-finished gazebo across the garden, and from this high vantage point he realised that it would probably only take the morning for the Detective to complete it. But then there was still the ceiling in the spare bedroom to repaint. He was sure he could come up with some other things that needed doing, once he felt a little more awake. He absently reached down to touch his erection through the silk of his pajamas, leaning on the windowsill and cupping his chin in one hand, eyes half-closing as he stroked himself. He was just making it worse, he knew, but he was sleepy and it felt nice. It was probably inevitable anyway.

 _Oh, what lows I have stooped to,_ he sighed to himself, thinking back to the night before.

Now he wasn't sure things could go back to normal when they were back in the office next week. With enough resolve he could probably suppress these thoughts he was having, but his willpower had completely failed him last night, and here he was now, touching himself while thinking about Detective Gumshoe.

 _I shouldn't be doing this..._ And yet he was sliding his hand into the waistband of his pajamas. He paused. _I have to give it up. Give it up, or tell him._

His penis ached to be touched. His middle finger brushed against it, pressed against the hardness, and then he grabbed hold of it, breathing in slowly.

"Okay," he said softly. He'd made his decision.

+++

Shortly afterwards, having cleaned up and dressed, he shuffled down the stairs in his slippers and dressing gown. Gumshoe was sprawled out across the sofa on his front, and to Edgeworth's surprise he was reading a book. It was _Catch-22_ , by Joseph Heller - one of the few fiction books he owned. Pess lay on the rug by the sofa, and Gumshoe was flipping the book's pages with one thumb, rubbing Pess' head with his free hand. Pess' eyes were closed, and his tail swept from side to side contentedly.

"Sorry about earlier, Mr. Edgeworth," Gumshoe said, looking up from the page he was reading, eyes contrite. "I dunno why I thought you'd be awake already. I guess it's 'cause you're always at the office so early during the week."

"That's why the weekend is for clearing the sleep debt I've accumulated. Usually," Edgeworth added, but there was no real bite to the comment - his initial early morning grumpiness had been replaced by post-mastubatory amiability. "Now, I promised bacon for breakfast, didn't I?" he went into the kitchen and retrieved the frying pan from the hook.

At the sound of the kitchen clatter Pess got up, sitting expectantly at the entrance.

"Yes, it's coming," Edgeworth said to him.

At the same time as getting the bacon out of the freezer, he also gave Pess some kibbles for breakfast and refilled his water dish. Gumshoe closed the book, putting it on the coffee table.

"Carry on reading if you want," Edgeworth said to him on his way back into the kitchen. "It's an excellent novel, and it'll be a little while before breakfast is ready."

 _Catch-22_ had been recommended to him some years ago, by Lana Skye, when they had shared a moment of mutual despair over a particularly pointless piece of Governmental legislation regarding evidence storage. He normally had little interest in wartime novels, but the style and satire of it had engaged him from start to finish - and he could see so many present-day parallels in the bureaucratic idiocies that populated the book.

"Aw, well, I think it's a bit wasted on me, pal," Gumshoe said, looking at it. "Some tabloid I read said it was one of those books you've gotta read before you die, but I just can't get my head around it."

"The timeline does jump around a lot - but persevere with it, things start to fall into place after a while." Edgeworth cracked some eggs into the pan, careful to do it far enough away from the bacon so that the white didn't run into the sizzling rashers.  
"But when they talk, it makes no sense. I mean, I know I talk a lot of crap sometimes, but what they talk really _is_ crap!"

"Of course, because they're all a little mad. Even Yossarian. The whole novel examines the sanity of wartime - or lack thereof. And by your logic, you should be able to understand what they say perfectly."

"I do, pal, that's how I know it's crap."

"The literary novel really is wasted on you, isn't it?" Edgeworth sighed, popping some toast in the toaster. "I never had you down as much of a reader anyway."

"Sure, I read! The library's free, so it's all good. Though it sure does take me a long time to finish a book - they kinda gave up on fining me in the end."

"Let me guess, your preferred fare is the formulaic crime novel?"

"Heck yeah! There's nothing like a good murder," Gumshoe declared. "Give me a Dick Francis and I'm a happy guy."

"Don't you get enough of that in your daily work?"

"Well, in the book, they solve it better, y'know?"

"If only you used them as inspiration."

"I do! After I read _Harry Potter_ I wanted to be a wizard when I grew up. Then I realised they didn't exist. I was gutted, pal, let me tell you. Though I suppose I could've gone and been a magician instead - like those Gramarye guys on telly. That'd be pretty cool, actually."

"Don't. They're over-rated. Immensely." Edgeworth fished some plates out of the cupboard and shared the contents of the frying pan out between them. "Breakfast is served, come and get it."

"Oh wow, mushrooms!" Gumshoe said happily as he picked up his plate. "Now that's what I call a damn good breakfast. Heh, my doc would have a fit!" He sat down at the table and tucked in.

Edgeworth made himself a cup of English Breakfast. By the time he'd brewed it and sat down with his own plate, Gumshoe had finished his.

"Hey, while you're chowing down on that, boss, I'll go get started on the gazebo, huh?"

"I think my neighbours would object to you banging and crashing about at this hour," Edgeworth said between bites of fried egg. "The door on the left hand side of the hall goes to the garage - you'll find paint and dust sheets in there. You can get started on fixing the damage you did to the ceiling in the spare bedroom - that's a slightly quieter occupation."

"Right you are! Uh..." Gumshoe looked down. "I'll need my overalls back."

"They're in the tumbledryer," Edgeworth pointed. He'd put them in there last night, and despite going through the heavy soiling wash programme at 90 degrees, the stains still hadn't come out.

The Detective got them out of the tumbledryer and was in the middle of putting them on when there was a loud ripping sound.

"Bugger!"

Edgeworth looked up from his breakfast, though he knew what the sound probably was.

"I knew I shoulda fixed that hole," Gumshoe sighed. He'd put one foot right through it. "Man, I hate sewing."

"Wait there a moment," Edgeworth speared the last few mushrooms on his plate and popped them into his mouth, then got up and went to the dresser in the corner of the lounge. He came back with a needle and a reel of cotton. "Sort yourself out," he said, still chewing. "I'll fix the tear."

"You can sew, boss?"

"It's a useful skill."

Gumshoe carefully extracted his leg, and redirected it down the leg of the overalls, hooking the straps over his shoulders. Edgeworth knelt down, at eye level with the Detective's crotch. There were large flaps of fabric hanging down now, exposing Gumshoe's whole leg. There was a small birthmark on the inside of his thigh, shaped a little like Italy. He wanted to touch it, to put his whole face in the tear and lick it, and he knew he was supposed to admit it aloud, like he'd promised himself that he would. But now it came to the crunch, and he was getting cold feet. The whole thing was so left field - the Detective wouldn't know how to react. He would probably stammer and dither, and the whole thing would be a disaster. His heartbeat quickened, his mouth drying out. He couldn't say it. His hands shook a little as he picked up a trailing flap of cotton and joined the two ends together with one hand. He cast on and began sewing the edges together with a neat herringbone stitch, hiding the temptation from view. Within minutes, he was done.  
"There, that won't be coming apart again in a hurry," he said, breaking the thread.

"Wow, that was quick!" Gumshoe turned the leg around a little, admiring the handiwork. "Cheers, boss - I'll go get started then. Your ceiling'll be done in no time!"

He disappeared into the hall, and Edgeworth watched him go, groaning inwardly. He couldn't go on like this. Something had to be done.  
He switched on the radio and tidied away the breakfast things, accompanied by Dvorak. Now the Detective was out of the room it was oddly quiet, and Classical Gold, normally soothing, filled the silence in a lacklustre fashion. If anything, it was irksome, interfering with his thoughts. He switched it off again, realising he'd put it on out of habit more than anything else. As he did so, he heard a few thuds from the hall. He walked into the lounge, craning his head to see into the hallway, then rushed forward hurriedly.

"What are you- oh."

Gumshoe had been attempting to get the aluminium stepladder into the house from the garage, and had somehow managed to wedge it sideways between two doorjambs. Now, it was stuck, blocking the corridor.

"Sorry, boss - I might need a hand here," Gumshoe scratched his head, not sure how he'd managed to achieve this. "Stupid ladders, always difficult to hump around."

"It's a stepladder."

"Aw, not you as well!" Gumshoe groaned. "I get that from Mr. Wright all the time."

"Do you now? So we've both been had."

Gumshoe laughed uproariously at that.

"Alright then, pal, so this _step_ ladder, is stuck. If you get that end," he gestured at the feet of the ladder, nearest to Edgeworth, "and I take this one, we can get it out without making me more painting to do. It won't take me long to fix your ceiling too, an' all - two hours, tops. I sure love working with Dulux paint, one coat's all you need!"

"Really? That's... good," Edgeworth said slowly. He'd already missed one opportunity to admit his true feelings to the Detective, and it looked like he wasn't going to get a second chance at it - at this rate he'd run out of jobs for Gumshoe to do by lunchtime.

 _I'll have to just come out with it,_ he fretted, taking up his station at the foot of the step ladder. But he was already beginning to realise that this perhaps wasn't the best way of doing it after all, because if it went disastrously wrong, he wouldn't be able to cover it up. _Why does he have to be so damned dense that I need to say it to his face like this?_

With this lament, he was struck by a sudden thought.

"Ready, Mr. Edgeworth? If we both push the ladder in at the same time it should bend enough for us to turn it around without knocking the plaster off the wall."

"Ready."

It was a possible solution to the problem. The idea was completely appalling, but it wouldn't go away - it leaped out at him with all certainty, like the threads of the truth when he stood at the bench in court.

"Push!"

Edgeworth pulled. There was a horrible screech of metal as the ladder slipped off the doorjamb, and because Gumshoe was pushing, the foot of the ladder caught against the wall and scraped a smeary, black score across it before Edgeworth whisked it away, his sharp reflexes apparently averting further damage.

"Aw, hell," Gumshoe dropped his end of the ladder and looked at the mark on the cream-coloured wall in dismay. "What happened there?"

"You tell me, Detective," Edgeworth feigned innocence. "You were directing the operation."  
Gumshoe appeared to have been busy with maneouvreing his end of the ladder, for he looked blank.

"I guess it wasn't as stuck as I thought it was," he said slowly, squatting down to look at the mark on the wall again. He rubbed at it with his thumb. The mark wouldn't come off. He frowned slightly.

"There's a tin of cream paint in the garage," Edgeworth added, offhand.

"Uh-huh." Gumshoe straightened up. "Don't you worry, boss, I'll make it good as new!"

"I wasn't worried." Edgeworth picked up the end of the ladder again. "Now, let's get this up the stairs before you destroy any more of my house."

"Sorry, Mr. Edgeworth - that won't happen again, I promise."

Gumshoe picked up the other end of the ladder, but he looked over his shoulder at the scrape mark on the wall again. When he turned back, Edgeworth could almost see the cogs turning in his head. Getting the ladder up the stairs was an affair almost on par with their flatpack efforts the night before, but Edgeworth had a feeling he wouldn't be able to get away with damaging any more walls. He'd have to play this carefully if he wanted Gumshoe to come to the conclusion under his own steam.

_He'll cotton on eventually. And then he'll ask, and then I can tell him._

The Detective seemed to be having one of his sharper days, so hopefully he wouldn't need to take it too far, but if push came to shove... well, he was now curious as to whether there was anything Gumshoe _couldn't_ fix.

***

"Do you require further assistance?" Edgeworth asked after they'd put down the groundsheets.

"Nah, just gotta prime it, mix the paint right and slap the stuff on, job done!" Gumshoe prised open the paint tin with a screwdriver. "I'll make it look real arty too, you won't be able to tell the difference."

"Arty?" Edgeworth raised one eyebrow.

"That Laurice Deuxnim bloke ain't got nothing on me, pal!"

"Hmph. That's not exactly difficult - he had nothing to begin with," Edgeworth smirked. "Very well, I shall take Pess out for a run. I'll be back soon, we're just going to the park today."

"Right you are, Mr. Edgeworth!" Gumshoe opened some unidentified packet Edgeworth didn't even know he had in the garage, and began tipping it into the bucket of paint he'd prepared. He seemed pretty absorbed in what he was doing, and Edgeworth felt rather ignored.

"What is that?" he asked, nodding at the packet.

The Detective didn't reply for a moment, then realised Edgeworth was still standing there, and had asked a question.

"This?" he held up the packet. "Oh, it's, uh..." he turned the packet around to look at it, but it failed to give him any clues other than the mixing instructions, "it's stuff. You know, that... stuff."

"You've forgotten the name of it, haven't you? Why does that not surprise me?" Edgeworth sighed.

"But I know what it does!" Gumshoe added eagerly. "You mix it in with the paint and it makes it stiffer so you can do that with it," he pointed up at the swirls either side of the damaged patch of ceiling. "You gotta get the mix right, though, otherwise it sets too quick and you've got a bucket for a doorstop." He was stirring the contents of the bucket all the time as he said this.

"Ah. Of course." Edgeworth gave up and left at that point, realising further questioning would only expose his ignorance. Besides, Gumshoe had left his tool box downstairs, and while the Detective was otherwise occupied this was a prime opportunity to... not steal, he corrected himself, but to _procure_ some items.

The toolbox proved to contain some very peculiar implements, but he recognised the basic spanner and screwdriver, so he took those. Gumshoe had his own, on his tool belt, so he wouldn't miss the ones in the box. He looked at the other odd tools, wondering if he needed any of them. But though DIY was far more complicated than he'd anticipated, surely Undo-It-Yourself would be simple enough?

Pess had a good run around the park, and when they got back, rather than parking in the garage, Edgeworth parked on the street and walked up to the house, letting Pess into the garden before sneaking indoors and getting to work.  
***  
Later, he peered around the door to the spare bedroom, doing a double-take at the sight of the Detective, who appeared to have aged overnight - but it was actually flecks of paint in his hair. He was balanced on the stepladder, tongue between his teeth and eyes tracking the path of his paintbrush as he painstakingly swirled it around on the ceiling.

"Coffee?" Edgeworth asked.

Gumshoe jumped, wobbling violently on the stepladder.

"Whoa!" he grabbed the top step of ladder to steady himself, and Edgeworth grabbed the sides to stablilise it. "Sheesh, boss, you're lighter-footed than a catthief, I didn't even hear you come in!"

"Hm, didn't want to interrupt," Edgeworth muttered, not meeting his gaze - he _had_ been indulging in a bit of catthievery earlier.

"Cheers for the offer, pal, I'd kill for a coffee - all I can taste is paint right now," Gumshoe made a face.

That was all Edgeworth could smell, too - the Detective had opened the windows but the strong whiff of Dulux Brilliant White still hung in the air. He glanced up at the ceiling. The paint coating was still wet, and the swirls were a little larger than the others, but Gumshoe had otherwise blended them in well.

"So whaddaya think, huh?" Gumshoe pointed upwards.

"It's passable, I suppose," Edgeworth conceded. "It's not as if one walks around continually paying attention to one's ceilings, so it would pass a cursory inspection. In actual fact, no one really sleeps in this room - Franziska prefers the one on the opposite side of the corridor. I think you're the first person to actually use this one."

"Well, pal, if I ever come here again, I'll have probably forgotten all about doing this, so I'll look up at it and go 'Wow, who did this? They're pretty damn good!'" Gumshoe winked.

"And who did the 'pretty damn good' damage in the first place, hm?"

"Uh..." Gumshoe paused, "maybe I just won't look up at the ceiling, huh?"

"Per-"

CRASH.

The two men turned at the sound.

"What the heck was that? Sounded like something in the house, pal!"

Pess began barking downstairs - it was an agitated kind of yelp, and Edgeworth was immediately out the door and down the stairs.

"Pess! Here, boy!"

Pess was absolutely fine, it turned out - the sudden noise had just upset him, and he followed closely at his master's heel as Edgeworth cautiously opened the door to the study, Gumshoe not far behind.

The study was in chaos - papers were scattered all over the floor and the heavy mahogany writing desk had partly collapsed, toppled forward onto one broken leg, the drawers half open and their contents spilled everywhere. The telephone that had been on the desktop was now dangling over one arm of the chair by its cord, the handset still swinging slightly with the pendular momentum of its descent, accompanied by the insistent beep of its dialtone. Pens and other items of stationery lay on top of the fallen papers, a trail of paperclips tracking from a dispenser that had fallen from a drawer.

"Damn it!" Edgeworth exclaimed, kneeling down to try and reorganise the papers. "It took me all week to collate these. Look at this mess! What the hell's happened to my desk?"

"Looks like it's broken, boss," was Gumshoe's verdict.

"Oh, your observation skills are absolutely top-notch, Detective, I am truly in awe of your uncanny ability to _state the blindingly obvious_ ," Edgeworth said acidly, stacking one pile of papers together and starting on the next, shaking the paperclips off them as he went. "Now will you dispense with the pointless commentary and diagnose what has afflicted my, up until now, perfectly serviceable piece of furniture?"

Gumshoe was on the case - he was on his hands and knees by the fallen desk, looking at the broken leg.  
"Mahogany's pretty solid, Mr. Edgeworth - it shouldn't just fall down like that, unless... ah-ha!"

"Which means, what?"

"It broke here," Gumshoe pointed at where the leg joined the table, "'cause you've got a screw loose."

"There's nothing wrong with my sanity, Detective!" Edgeworth said indignantly.

_Well, perhaps a little..._

"Uh, no, I didn't mean that, pal!" Gumshoe said quickly. "I mean the anchoring screw in here, see?" He pulled at the leg, which was wedged beneath the weight of the fallen desk, and the whole thing came away, the metal of the bared screw poking through the top of the leg. "There's, like, a little holder this screw's meant to go into, in here," he patted the body of the desk, "and that keeps it all steady, see? But that's fallen out," he looked around on the carpet. "Should be on the floor somewhere."

It wasn't. Edgeworth had it in his pocket.

"Can you fix that leg, Detective?" Edgeworth asked. He put the telephone handset back on the receiver, silencing the annoying dialtone.

Gumshoe heaved the desk up, putting his head right down on the carpet so he could look underneath it. His body shook a little with the muscle effort required to hold it up, and his rear end jiggled invitingly. Edgeworth was right above it, and he dropped his hands down in a near-involuntary action, pre-cupped to receive a cheek each, and only just managed to stop himself, turning the action into a swift kneel to sweep the paperclips back into the dispenser as the Detective looked back at him.

"The screw's gouged a chunk out of the bottom of the desk, but I can patch that up okay," was his assessment. "Though if we don't find that other bit that's fallen out, we'll be going nowhere fast, pal."

"You need that to put the leg back on?"

Gumshoe nodded.

"Let's see if we can find it then."

Between them they cleared the floor, and when Gumshoe's back was turned Edgeworth rolled the coin-shaped gizmo under the desk. The desk had confounded him initially, as it was lacking in visible screwheads to attack, but after some tinkering he had discovered that the flat discs actually turned, which unlocked the embedded screws holding the legs of the table together. He was rather proud of his destructive handiwork, though he hadn't been expecting it to collapse so soon.

"Found it!" he said triumphantly, appearing to reach under the desk and produce the missing disc.

"That's the one!" Gumshoe held his hand out, and Edgeworth deposited it into his palm. "Right, now we're cooking! I'll go get some reinforcing brackets outta the toolbox, and you'll be back at your desk in lickety-split."

"I promised coffee, didn't I?" Edgeworth remembered.

"As long as it's not Dulux-flavoured, I don't mind, boss," Gumshoe chuckled.

"It might as well be, the strength you like it at," was the prosecutor's dry response as he left the study.  
He was careful to fill the kettle with water from the bottles in the fridge, instead of using the kitchen tap. It was a timebomb, now that he'd been at the pipes.

By the time he'd brewed the coffee and brought it through, Gumshoe had removed the drawers from the desk and upended it with a heave. Now he was screwing in some metal strips to the bottom of the desk, to bind together the damaged screwhole. He downed his coffee in one gulp.

"Yeeha!" he smacked his lips. "You sure do a good brew, Mr. Edgeworth,"

"Yes, and again, it's wasted on you," the prosecutor retorted, taking his empty mug.

"Not true, pal - I can feel it working the old magic already," Gumshoe cracked his knuckles together. "DIY's a breeze when you're tanked up on caffeine!" he picked up the screwdriver again, and with a click-clack he had the leg back on. "Tada! Five minute job - no biggie."

 _It took me fifteen minutes to work out how to break that. Why does he pick moments like these to actually be efficient?_ Edgeworth grumbled to himself.

"Good work, Detective," he said reluctantly.

"Upsy-daisy," Gumshoe grunted, pulling the desk towards him and bracing himself against the weight of it, carefully setting it upright. He slowly let go of it, and the legs settled into the carpet, bearing the weight. "And Bob's your Grandpa!"

"So I can put these back on?" Edgeworth heaved the stack of papers, slapping them down on the desk, but it didn't budge an inch.

"You could stick the Titanic on it now," Gumshoe said confidently. "Y'know, it's kinda weird that it broke in the first place - those screwholders need a fair bashing to become loose. I guess somebody didn't screw it tight enough when they were making it?" he shrugged.

"Possibly," Edgeworth said noncommittally.

"Hey, you reckon I can finish off your gazebo now, boss?" Gumshoe asked, already keen to start something else.

Edgeworth checked the time.

"I suppose it is a more sociable hour now - go ahead," he gestured grandly towards the study door.  
"Oh yeah, pal, I meant to ask," Gumshoe said on his way out, "do you have any creosote?"

"Creo...sote," Edgeworth rolled the word around on his tongue. The syllables were alien and had no meaning.

"You know, brown stuff, put it on wood, it really stinks..."

The prosecutor ruminated upon this concept. Was he talking about varnish, perhaps? But varnish was varnish, he wasn't aware of any other name for it.

_Curious. Curious creosote. Hmm, a good alliteration._

"Uh, guess that's a no, then?"

"Given the other things you've conjured up from out of my garage, if anyone would be able to nose out some... creosote, it'd be you, Detective," Edgeworth pointed out.

"I'll get a-hunting then, boss - if there isn't any, we'll need to go get some from the hardware store."

"I suppose I could pick some up when I go to get lunch."

"It's lunchtime?!"

"No, it's _not_!"

"Aw, you got my hopes up there," Gumshoe said sadly.

"If you're hungry, Detective, just say so."

"But... I'm always hungry, boss."

"Oh, fine then - when you're too hungry to work, say so." Edgeworth was beginning to get the hang of Gumshoe's feeding patterns now.

"Gotcha!" Gumshoe saluted, then wandered off to search the garage.

Edgeworth finished reorganising his journal articles, bundling those under one arm and his laptop beneath the other, then he headed for the garden. By the time he had set up shop at the garden table, Gumshoe was coming down the path with the stepladder.

"I couldn't find any creosote," he said as he set up the stepladder by the side of the gazebo.

"I'll buy some, then, if you need it that badly."

"Well, if you creosote something like this, Mr. Edgeworth, it'll last you for ages. If you don't, well, look what happened to the original wood," Gumshoe nodded over at the pile of rotted struts, set aside to go to the tip.

"Very well. You'll have it by lunchtime," Edgeworth picked up one of his articles, flipping to the first page.

Gumshoe tested the ladder. The ground was a little uneven. He looked over at Edgeworth, who was apparently engrossed. Looking back to the ladder, he wobbled it again, then put one foot on the first rung, applying some weight. The feet of the ladder sunk a little into the ground. Carefully, he climbed onto the rung. The ladder sank some more, but bore his weight. Encouraged, he climbed higher, but when he was at eyelevel with the roof struts the ladder began to list to one side. Desperately he grabbed hold of the upper roof strut as he lost his footing and the ladder fell away from beneath his feet.

"Whoa!"

Edgeworth looked up to find the Detective dangling from the strut, his legs scissoring the air while the stepladder remained tilted at a crazy angle.

"Heavens!" he exclaimed, scrambling out of his chair. "Hold on, I've got you!" He seized the ladder, pushing it upright so it was under the Detective's feet.

"That's no good, boss, the ground's all boggy - it'll just sink!" Gumshoe's voice sounded strained, he was hanging on for dear life.

Edgeworth realised the ground he was standing on was muddy, water welling around his loafers. He looked down in horror. It hadn't been like this yesterday. This was his fault.  



	4. Fixing It Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains explicit sexual content and should not be read by anyone under 18.

He looked up at Gumshoe again – the Detective was shifting his hands, trying to get a better grip on the strut, but he had his teeth gritted and Edgeworth could see his arms were shuddering with the effort.

“I’ll catch you!” the prosecutor shouted up to him, pushing the ladder away and moving to stand underneath.

“Are you crazy, boss? I’ll break your ribs!”

“You’re going to fall any moment, Detective – I won’t have you injure yourself on my property!"

“Get out of the way, Mr. Edgeworth,” Gumshoe could feel his grip slipping, “some things can’t be helped!” In desperation he kicked out at his superior, to try and get him to move out of the way, but Edgeworth just ducked, and at that moment the Detective’s fingers lost their hold on the wood.

Edgeworth flung his arms out, in the misguided belief that he’d actually be able to break Gumshoe’s fall. The Detective hit him like a ton of bricks and he buckled under the impact, his feet skidding out from underneath him, and they hit the ground with a jarring thump, accompanied by the wet squelch of cold mud.

They were both winded and stunned, and they lay there for several moments. Edgeworth's head was throbbing, and every part of his body felt shaken, loose – though the soft ground had absorbed most of the shock. He tried to sit up, but Gumshoe was lying across him; a warm, heavy weight. The Detective groaned.

"Detective... Are you... all right?" Edgeworth asked slowly. He was still trying to get his breath back.

The weight shifted. Gumshoe's hands sank into the boggy ground as he pushed himself up enough to lift his head.

"Boss?" Gumshoe turned to look across at him. "Boss! You okay?" Then realised he was actually lying on top of the prosecutor's legs. "Ahh!" he hurriedly lifted himself off them, wincing a little as he assumed a kneeling position. "Sorry for falling on you, Mr. Edgeworth, sir! I'll take a paycut, that was totally my fault-"

"For God's sake, Detective, enough of the apologies," Edgeworth said exasperatedly. "Are you injured?"

"Nope. The old bones got a good rattling but it doesn't feel like I've broken anything. Can you get up?" Gumshoe picked himself up, extending his hand out to the prosecutor. His overalls were covered in mud, now, and so were his hands, but Edgeworth was exactly the same, so he took the Detective's hand, pulling himself upright. As he stood, the wind blew and he could feel the coldness of mud soaking into his clothes.

"Mr. Edgeworth?"

"What?" Edgeworth asked, looking at him.

Gumshoe had a big smear of mud down the side of his face, and he'd lost the pencil that was normally behind his ear. His hair was unkempt and full of flecks of paint. But his expression was serious, and he held the eye contact.

"Thanks, pal," he said. "I would've broken something for sure, falling like that. I didn't, thanks to you. I won't forget that." Then he dropped Edgeworth's hand. "Though, uh, I kinda have a confession to make," he grinned sheepishly, scratching the back of his head.

"You do?" Edgeworth managed, his heart thumping against his ribcage. This was it, Gumshoe had figured it out-

"I think this subsidence is my fault, pal," Gumshoe admitted.

"No it's-" Edgeworth cut himself off, pausing to forcibly haul his brain off the track of declaring his guilt. "Wait. Your fault?"

"Er, well, I think I might've flipped the wrong valves on your pool pump," Gumshoe was edging away from him, already anticipating at the inevitable explosion.

Edgeworth was confused, now, but he knew better than to disappoint.

"You've done WHAT?!" he demanded.

"Uh, well, your pool's got one of those superpumps that channel extra water into the garden. You know the ones, right?"

Now he remembered. He'd been told that back when the pool was being fitted.

"But it's not meant to interface with the sprinklers," he said. "They're on a separate system."

"Yeeeeah. I forgot which pipes had been connected up to the pump when I took the motor out, so when I was putting it back I just kinda... plugged them all in."

"You..." Edgeworth shook his head. "You blithering idiot!" He bent down and pulled the wet fabric of his chinos away from his aching legs. But they were soaked, and just clung again. The fabric of Gumshoe's overalls was clinging in a similar fashion, outlining the legs he'd had the pleasure of looking upon earlier in the morning.

"I'll fix it, boss!" Gumshoe said immediately. "Two minute job, just need to unplug some pipes."

"And how long will it take for the ground to dry out?"

Gumshoe lifted one foot. The mud released it with a squelching 'pop'.

"A fair while, I reckon. I don't think I'll be able to finish the gazebo roof today," he sighed. "Sorry, Mr. Edgeworth."

"Did I not tell you to stop apologising, Detective? It gets irritating when you're excusing things that are beyond your control. Now tell me," Edgeworth turned to look across the garden at the house. "What do those pipes there have to do with the sprinkler system? Those white ones," He pointed at the white pipes travelling down the outside of the house, into the ground.

Gumshoe studied them. He turned to Edgeworth, looking a little uneasy. Edgeworth liked to throw odd questions his way sometimes, and Gumshoe's replies rarely went down well.

"They're... nothing to do with the sprinkler system, boss," he said hesitantly.

"Oh?"

"They're downpipes - all the water from your sink, your gutters and stuff, it goes down those into the drains."

"I see." Edgeworth looked thoughtful. Then he turned to the Detective. "So it _is_ your fault. You blithering idiot."

"Aw, you didn't need to say it twice, pal," Gumshoe said sadly.

"When it comes to you, Detective, everything bears repeating," Edgeworth quirked him a smile, then nodded his head towards the pool enclosure. "Get that fixed up so we're not flooded out, then come inside and get those wet overalls off - you can't work in those when they're soaking."

"I'm on it!"

Gumshoe headed to the pool, while Edgeworth gathered up his untouched papers and laptop and headed indoors to change. He could see bruises starting to blossom from his earlier fall, but they were nothing major. Once in comfortable, dry clothing, he dumped his wet things in the washing machine. The Detective came in at that point.

"Same again for lunch?" Edgeworth asked him.

"I could eat prawn baguettes every day of the year," Gumshoe said fervently, stripping his overalls off and handing them to Edgeworth to go in the washing machine. He showed none of yesterday's self-consciousness, but he moved gingerly.

"Turn around," Edgeworth ordered.

"Huh?"

"Turn around, I said."

Gumshoe slowly did so. Bruising was starting to pattern the small of his back, a kaleidoscope of purples and browns bleeding into one another.

"Sit at the table. You'll need a cold compress on that."

"It's okay, boss, I've had worse. I'm made of tough stuff!"

"However much you might like to delude yourself that you're some sort of superhero, Detective, you are not indestructible. I need you mobile for fieldwork on Monday, and you'll be more useless than usual if your back is stiff."

"Hey, I still came into work the day after I busted up my jalopy running that evidence to Mr. Wright!" Gumshoe protested.

"Yes, and you were no good for anything, so I sent you home again," Edgeworth countered, setting the washing machine running and fishing out a clean kitchen towel from the drawer.

"Aw, but it's the thought that counts, right?" Gumshoe watched him get ice cubes from the freezer and lay them out on the towel.

"It's the thought that counts, but you rarely think, Detective," Edgeworth said blithely. "Now, take this and hold it against the bruising," he folded the towel over into a strip, taking both ends and giving it to the Detective.

Gumshoe took it hesitantly, passing it behind him. The moment it touched his skin he winced, taking it away.

"C-cold!"

"Oh, give it here," Edgeworth took the towel from him and pressed it right against the bruising.

Gumshoe flinched, but held himself still, realising he would only be scolded otherwise. Neither of them said anything for a moment. Edgeworth was stood right over him, acutely aware of their proximity. Glancing down, he could see the cold water from the melting ice cubes tracking down the Detective's back, crossing the border from tan to pale skin and soaking into the waistband of his boxers. Daringly, he moved a few fingers off the rough weave of the teatowel so they were resting against Gumshoe's skin. Despite the sun exposure, his skin was smooth, though cold to the touch because of the ice water. But it meant the skin was probably numb, and his wandering fingers unnoticed. He wanted to move those fingers again, to stroke, to caress, to fondle... he felt pinpricks of heat break out over him at that thought.

Gumshoe shifted in his chair, raising his head.

"Is it just me, or can you hear something sloshing, boss?"

The question jerked Edgeworth out of his reverie.

"It's just the washing machine. It's a noisy thing." Edgeworth turned to look over his shoulder at the kitchenette. His eyes widened. " _Shit!_ " He dropped the towel, kicking off his slippers to run barefooted into the kitchen, through the rapidly expanding lake of water taking over the kitchen floor.

 _But I didn't do anything to the washing machine!_ he thought frantically, smacking the stop button with his palm. The machine stopped mid spin, then began to drain. At that point he realised the water was all spilling out from the cupboard beneath the sink.

And it wasn't stopping.

"DETECTIVE!"

"I'm right behind you, pal," Gumshoe gestured for Edgeworth to step to the side so he could get to the cupboard. He opened it up, and a wave of water gushed out over the floor, sending ripples across the tiles to soak into the carpet. "Need the big spanner," he requested, pointing behind him at the toolbox in the corner of the lounge.

Edgeworth took wide steps on tiptoe to get out of the kitchen, collecting the entire toolbox and bringing it back. Gumshoe took out the spanner, kneeling in the puddle to get to the back of the pipes. As he worked, the water flow slowed, then stopped.

"Good work, Detective," and Edgeworth meant it this time, though mostly out of relief.

Gumshoe didn't reply, he was still reaching into the cupboard. There was a loud gurgling sound from the plughole of the sink, one Edgeworth was familiar with, and for the first time he realised that noise was the washing machine draining through the U-bend of the sink. That explained a lot.

He looked down at the flooded floor. The water lapped around his feet.

"What a mess. I suppose the carpet will dry, but this needs cleaning up."

He went to the garage and got the mop and bucket normally left for the cleaner to use. Gumshoe was probably expecting to be handed them both and told to get to it, but Edgeworth felt it was his duty to mop up, really. As he brought them into the kitchen, Gumshoe standing by the kitchen unit, the cupboard door now shut.

"All fixed!" he said proudly, folding his arms. "Gadget Gumshoe saves the day, huh?" He leaned against the kitchen unit, forgetting his bruises, and jerked away, wincing.

"Would Gadget Gumshoe now care to save his back by reapplying the icepack I abandoned on the table?" Edgeworth said pointedly, running the mop through the water spill until it was saturated, then squeezing it into the bucket.

Gumshoe sat there with the icepack against the small of his back, while Edgeworth mopped the floor.

"Don't you wanna know what happened to your washing machine, boss?" he asked.

"Well, it's logical," Edgeworth said, flicking the mop from side to side with brisk swipes. "There was a leak, wasn't there? You wouldn't have asked for a spanner, otherwise."

"There sure was!" Gumshoe nodded. "You're getting pretty good at this DIY stuff, huh?"

"Hm, well, it's just common sense, isn't it?" Edgeworth said, nudging the bucket along with one foot. It was half full now.

"Most of it is, yup! So can you figure out what caused the leak?"

"A crack in the pipe?" Edgeworth suggested innocently.

"Could be! But nah, it was just a loose collar on one of the pipes, pal. Which is just as well, 'cause I'm no plumber!"

"Who would've thought something so simple could cause such a mess?"

"Doesn't take much to get a leak going when you've got lots of water coming through like that," Gumshoe nodded over at the washing machine. "I checked all the other pipes down there too, and there was another loose one. So I tightened that up. Just as well you haven't had the hot water tap on, boss, or you would've been in for a nasty surprise!"

"And I'd be mopping up more water," Edgeworth was going for a second pass now. The floor was still damp but no longer covered in water. "Though at least if a tap starts leaking you can just shut it off." He'd been saving that for later.

"Boss..."

"Yes, Detective?"

Gumshoe was looking down at the mop bucket, tapping the head of his spanner on one knee.

"D'you think there's been a lot of funny stuff happening today?" he asked.

"Like my garden turning into a quagmire?"

"Yeah, I know that was my fault... but," he hesitated a moment, as if deliberating whether or not to continue, "you know, boss, given I'd wrecked half your garden and knocked you flat, you didn't seem all that angry."

"You want me to cut your pay, then?"

"...I think I'd feel better if you did."

Edgeworth paused mid-mop.

"Are you in full possession of your faculties, Detective? You weren't supposed to say yes to that question."

"I dunno, boss. I think maybe I am going a little crazy." Gumshoe paused, then lifted his head, looking steadily at the prosecutor. "'Cause it seems to me that you're not acting like yourself. And... pipe collars don't come loose by perfect quarter-turns."

Edgeworth squeezed the mop out again one last time, then tipped the contents of the bucket down the sink. He waited, as if anticipating a return tsunami via the cupboard beneath the sink. None came.

"Boss?"

He put the bucket down and turned to face Gumshoe.

"So you found me out," he said quietly.

***

“Whoa… you actually did? You loosened those collars?”

“You shouldn’t be making accusations if you’re not certain, Detective. At least interrogate with some conviction, even if you’re operating on a hunch.”

“Yes, boss,” Gumshoe took a breath, then stood, straightening up from his usual slouch. “So the desk was you as well, wasn’t it… right?”

“ _Conviction_ , Detective!”

“Then the ladder chipping the wall was _definitely_ you, sir!”

“That’s more like it,” Edgeworth nodded, satisfied.

“But, Mr. Edgeworth, why are you going around breaking stuff in your own house?” Gumshoe was mystified.

“Why do you think, Detective?”

“I don’t know, boss. You always told me to do the ‘what’ and leave the ‘why’ to you.”

Edgeworth sighed. There were times when he had Gumshoe trained a little too well.

“Then _what_ are you doing here?” he asked.

“Uhh… is this a test?” Gumshoe said warily. He never did well on those, especially when Edgeworth was the one setting them.

“Just answer the question, Detective – it’s simple enough, even for a brain as lacking as yours.”

“I’m here to fix stuff, right?” Gumshoe said tentatively, waggling the spanner.

“Correct.”

“Yeah!” Gumshoe whooped. “A point for me! So what’s the billion dollar question then, huh?”

“Very well. You ready for it?”

“Fast pitch – go for it!” Gumshoe took his stance, spanner held like a baseball bat. Like most of his bizarre behaviours, Edgeworth ignored it.

“If you’re here to fix things, why would I go around breaking them?” he asked.

“Uh… you got me there, boss.”

“Just say the first thing that comes into your head,” Edgeworth said impatiently. He was getting a bit fed up with this now.

“Uh,” Gumshoe scratched the back of his head with the spanner. “You wanna get your money’s worth outta having me round?”

“Augh!” Edgeworth threw his hands up in exasperation. “You’re a hopeless case, Detective – how much more direct do I have to be?!”

“Aw, can I have one last try?”

“No, because I have no doubt that your next answer will send me further into despair. Come this way,” Edgeworth beckoned to him. “I’ve got one last job for you to do.” He left the lounge.

“You’ve broken something else, boss?” Gumshoe asked, following him up the stairs.

“Only my own sanity,” Edgeworth replied sadly, opening the door to his bedroom. “After you.”

Gumshoe entered the room, looking around.

“Wow, you’ve even got ruffles on your bedspread, pal!” he exclaimed. “I didn’t notice that when I was in here this morning. That’s pretty neat – everyone at work’s always saying your cravats are just a trademark thing, but that ain’t true.”

“A trademark?” Edgeworth spluttered. “How ridiculous. I don’t need frippery to establish an identity. I just… like ruffles. That’s all.”

“I reckon they suit you, boss. I can’t imagine you with a tie like Mr. Wright’s. That’d be weird.” Gumshoe eyed the shelves in the corner. “Is that what needs fixing?” he asked, nodding at them. “They look a bit bowed in the middle.”

“Those shelves have stayed up for five years with no intervention from man nor beast – I have no intention of letting you tinker with them now.”

Gumshoe was confused.

“So… what’s the job, then?” he asked, turning to Edgeworth.

“The job?” Edgeworth shut the door behind him. “The job… is me.”

“Uhh, boss,” Gumshoe replied, after a pause, “I can’t fix your sanity.”

“I don’t expect you to, Detective. I’ve been trying to cure myself all weekend and have failed on every count. But you can at least humour me…” he trailed off, seeing the look on Gumshoe’s face. “I’ve lost you, haven’t I?”

The Detective nodded, shrugging. This happened to him a lot – he was used to Edgeworth’s train of thought speeding away into the distance and leaving him standing on the platform.

“Oh, fine then. The concise version is thus,” Edgeworth said, folding his arms and looking away, his voice descending into near inaudibility as he came out with it. “Your rear end has been occupying the majority of my waking thoughts, and as it’s your fault for possessing it, you can do something to make amends.”

Gumshoe cupped his hand behind his ear, straining to hear him. He dropped his hand, brow knitting in a frown as he tried to process what he’d just heard.

“My ass?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“This?” he turned and pointed.

“Yes, Detective, that is your ass – I’d be severely concerned if you were pointing anywhere else. Apart from your head, given some of the nonsense you come out with on a daily basis.”

“But… what’s so great about my butt, boss?”

Edgeworth smacked his palm against his forehead.

“Detective Gumshoe. Do I have to spell _everything_ out for you? I’m gay. I find your ass attractive. What else do you want me to do, break it down into component syllables?”

Gumshoe stood stock still for a moment, regarding him with a look of surprise. The silence stretched.

 _He doesn’t know what to say,_ Edgeworth realised. _Damn... Why did I even believe he might reciprocate? Fool. Fool me._

He’d made a mistake, and having resorted to such plain language, a coverup was unlikely to be successful. Then again, the Detective was capable of ignoring just about anything when he put his mind to it – even his own ignorance.

_Perhaps it would be simpler to just order him to forget about it…_

Gumshoe broke into a grin, scratching his head.

“Aw, gee, what a compliment!” His shoulders started to shudder with suppressed mirth, and finally he couldn’t help it, he began laughing.

Edgeworth stared at him, nonplussed.

“That… wasn’t the response I was expecting,” he said weakly. “Did I say something funny?”

“You sure did, pal,” Gumshoe was a little breathless. “I can’t believe it. You’re actually bent?”

“That’s… one way of putting it, yes.”

“Boy, no wonder I haven’t had a girlfriend for the last ten years – I’ve gotta be doing something wrong if it’s only the guys paying attention to my butt!” That set him off all over again. Edgeworth could only watch, bewildered.

“Tell you what, boss,” Gumshoe tried to say, catching his breath, “you sure kept that one quiet. I always imagined you as being the kinda guy who had the ladies eating out of his hand, know what I mean?”

“Where in God’s name did you get that idea?” Edgeworth spluttered.

“Well, that’s the rumour at Criminal Affairs, and Mister Wright told me that he’s yet to find an assistant that doesn’t have the hots for you.”

“They do…?” Edgeworth was a little mystified.

“Haven’t you seen the way they look at you across the courtroom, pal?”

“Er…”

“No’s the answer then, huh?” Gumshoe chuckled. “Poor old Mister Wright, he sure gets frustrated.”

“It’s wasted effort on their part, I’m afraid. The female species terrify me, mostly.”

“Aw, well, you had me fooled, boss – the way you handle Wendy Oldbag, I thought you were a natural.”

“Did I not ban that name from being spoken in my presence?” Edgeworth shuddered. “Anyway… now you know the truth behind my house’s sudden state of disrepair. I was hoping you might piece it all together and figure out what was going on, but as usual my faith was misplaced.” He paused, thinking. “I suppose you got halfway there.”

“You could’ve just told me, you know, Mister Edgeworth,” Gumshoe sighed. “It would’ve been a helluva lot easier.”

“Perhaps,” Edgeworth admitted, “but the right moment never seemed to appear. So I tried to buy some time. And, I suppose, I wasn’t expecting you to find this whole affair so hilarious.”

“It was just the way you came out with it, boss. You’ve chucked me a few left-fielders in the past, but that’s gotta be one of the best!”

“Well, left-field though it may be, it is the truth. I’m, er, not expecting any kind of reciprocation, but-“

“HOLD IT!” Gumshoe flung his hand out to point dramatically at Edgeworth, who had to take a step back in order to avoid being poked in the chest. “Hey, how was that? Did I do it right?”

Edgeworth looked down at the outstretched, stubby finger pointed in his direction.

“You’re still holding the spanner, Detective. It ruins the effect. You look like a plumber trying to dowse a leak.”

“Aw, way to cramp a guy’s style, pal,” Gumshoe put the spanner on the dresser, looking disappointed. “Just when I thought I’d found the right moment for it too, an’ all.”

“And that outburst was in the aid of…?”

“Well, you just contradicted yourself, boss!” Gumshoe said proudly. “I was pointing it out like Mr. Wright does, y’see.”

“Pointing is pointless unless you explain your point, Detective,” Edgeworth replied, folding his arms. “That’s a lesson Wright could do with learning, and you’d learn well to avoid copying him – he’s a bad example.”

“It’s a good point, boss, I promise.”

If it was what Edgeworth was hoping, the Detective was actually right. For once.

“So… you said just now that you didn’t want anything back,” Gumshoe said slowly. “But that’s not what you said before. Right?”

“Oh, come now – that was the most pathetic presentation of a contradiction I’ve ever heard; even Wright can do a better job than that. _Conviction_ , Detective!” Edgeworth jabbed a finger into Gumshoe’s chest, poking the syllables home. “ **Con-vic-tion**. How many times do I have to tell you?”

“Alright then, boss!” Gumshoe said immediately, saluting. “Conviction! Gotcha! I am convicted!”

“That’s… not how-“

“Here it comes, pal – the Gumshoe Turnabout!” Gumshoe was unstoppable now. “This is my deduction, Mr. Edgeworth: there’s no way you would’ve told me any of this if you didn’t want anything to come from it, ‘cause you’re not that kind of guy, you just sorta keep stuff to yourself until the time is right. And if _that’s_ right, then the truth is that you want me to give it to you in the butt the way you guys like it! Take that!”

Edgeworth snorted, clapped a hand to his mouth to try and muffle the laugh that half-escaped from his lips. Gumshoe looked dismayed - had he gotten it wrong again?

“Ahem,” Edgeworth smirked, taking his hand away once he’d recovered his composure. “What can I say in the face of that? My plea is nothing less than a guilty one.”

There was a short silence.

“Oh. Well… I guess you’d better get your stuff off, then,” Gumshoe said.

Edgeworth’s mind hooked on this, and unravelled.

“What? But…? I thought you wouldn’t-”

“Well, you’re always asking me to do weird stuff for you, boss. This is no different,” Gumshoe shrugged. “I do ‘what’, you say ‘why’, right? And you’ve told me ‘why’, so why not, huh? Besides, I’m not the kinda guy who knocks something until he’s tried it.”

There was no ‘Gumshoe’ in ‘logic’, but the truth of the matter was that when the two words were side by side, they formed the indomitable Gumshoe Logic - a higher form of reasoning that floored Edgeworth every time. There was no reply he could make to this.

“I’m not gay though. Just so y’know,” Gumshoe added, a little belatedly. “There’s a difference between giving and receiving, right?”

“Er… whatever you say, Detective,” Edgeworth replied, beginning to unbutton his shirt. He wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth, that was for sure.

Gumshoe immediately turned around to face the wall, to give the prosecutor some privacy while he undressed. A few moments later there was a tap on his shoulder.

“Detective, you’re never a model of propriety at any other time, so why start now?” Edgeworth couldn’t keep the amusement out of his voice.

“Ah!” Gumshoe slowly turned back to face him. “Sorry, bo…” he trailed off.

Edgeworth was standing there in nothing but his underwear, his trousers and shirt draped over one arm. The fabric of his crimson Calvin Kleins framed the shape of his partial erection, the waistband curving down slightly where it was pulled away from his abdomen by the tautened fabric. He saw Gumshoe’s eyes drift down towards it, then flick back upwards again. The Detective didn’t look completely certain, in spite of his earlier declaration.

“Are you sure you wish to go ahead with this, Detective?”

That look of uncertainty lingered for a moment, then Gumshoe shook himself, nodding.

“I’ll do a good job, boss. You can trust me on that!” his face was set, determined.

“Very well.”

There was a silence, Edgeworth watching him expectantly.

“Oh!” Gumshoe exclaimed, realising what he was meant to be doing.

He pulled his t-shirt over his head, throwing it to one side. As he did so, Edgeworth went over to the wardrobe, where there was a coathanger hanging on the handle, and hung up his own clothes. It was deliberate on his part, so his back was to Gumshoe as the Detective was removing his boxer shorts – he had a feeling Gumshoe still wasn’t quite at ease about all of this. But there were no quick movements behind him. Gumshoe had paused.

“Boss,” he said, “now you’ve said all this, a lot of things kinda make sense that didn’t before. You were totally eyeing me up when I was changing out of my overalls, weren’t you? I thought you’d just turned around at the wrong moment, but now I reckon there was more to it.”

“Er… I may have been.”

“You wanna turn around, then?”

Edgeworth felt a slow flush of excitement at the instruction, turning to look over his shoulder. Gumshoe was looking right at him, then he slowly bent down and inserted his hands into the waistband of his boxer shorts, stretching them out and pulling them down.

Even when not erect, Gumshoe’s penis was a fair size, surrounded by a veritable forest of hair – Edgeworth was a little surprised at that, given Gumshoe was sparsely haired everywhere else. The dark hairs made his cock and testicles look pale compared with his tanned legs and torso. The tan line was really obvious now he had nothing on. A lop-sided smile was spreading across Gumshoe’s face.

“You’ve gone bright red in the face, Mr. Edgeworth,” he said.

“Hmph. So?” Edgeworth replied haughtily, then pulled his own pants down. The waistband folded and caught the top of his erection as it passed over, but he was already hard enough that his cock only pulled down a little before snapping back, touching against his abdomen and leaving a strand of precome connecting the two.

His underwear fell down to his ankles, and he stepped out of them, his eyes no longer on Gumshoe’s face, though he knew the Detective was most definitely staring. He walked around to Gumshoe’s left, and bared for him to see, at last, was Dick Gumshoe’s magnificent rear end. He sighed a little at the sight of it, the soft-looking skin with its curlicues of hair and a shallow dip that begged to be traced with a finger.

“Detective,” he murmured.

“B-boss?” Gumshoe was rigid, glancing sideways at him.

“Relax. I won’t do anything without your permission. You set the boundaries – I won’t infringe unless invited.”

“Right…” Gumshoe tried to resume his usual slouch, but his movements were a little stiff.

Reluctantly, Edgeworth tore his hungry eyes away from the sight before him, realising now was not the time to ask to touch, however much he ached to.

"May I," he began, walking back to Gumshoe's front, "purely for my own self-satisfaction, you understand, get you to massage my shoulders? They're a little sore from the earlier gazebo shenanigans."

"Uh, sure, I can do that!"

"I'll sit on the bed, then."

Gumshoe sat cross-legged behind him, the orthopaedic mattress moulding silently beneath his weight.

"Where's sore then, huh?" Gumshoe asked.

"Start at the centre spine and move outwards."

Callused thumbs, warm and firm, pressed between his shoulderblades, plying the skin beneath them while the Detective used the heels of his palms to make slow, pushing movements against his back. Edgeworth closed his eyes as knots unknotted beneath the circular movements of Gumshoe's thumbs.

"You've got bruises too," Gumshoe commented from behind him. "All down your back. Here," one index finger skirted over the top of a particularly achey spot, "and here, and here too. This one's a pretty good one!"

Edgeworth winced.

"Do you have to go poking them?"

"Aw, sorry," the prodding finger changed to the flat of a hand, the warmth easing the ache a little.

Quiet settled between them. The hand stayed there. It was a pregnant kind of pause, and Edgeworth nearly held his breath, acutely aware of the touch. Then another hand touched him on the opposite side, fingers stretched so the tips were curled around his side. He was sensitive there, and his skin quivered a little beneath the contact. Gumshoe said nothing, but there was an air of concentration to his silence as he slowly walked his fingers forward, little mouse-steps just below his ribs. Edgeworth took a shivery breath at the ticklishness of it, felt the fingers pause, then clapped his hands over Gumshoe's just as the Detective was about to remove them.

"It's fine," he said quickly. "Just... carry on. Don't stop."

"It's what you want?"

"I'll tell you if it isn't."

Edgeworth took his hands away, and looking down he saw Gumshoe's hands creeping further and further around, towards his midriff. His cock had started to deflate, a consequence of the laziness of the massage he'd been receiving, but with this unexpected overture it was now standing to attention again. Now Gumshoe began to spread his fingers out, the roughened pads of his fingers an unusual sensation for skin soft and well-looked after. They were exploratory, running over the skin of his abdomen, tracing his ribcage, brushing over the small mole he had next to his navel, skirting around bruises, gentle touches that sent his touch sense haywire.

His breathing was quickening slightly, pinpricks of sweat breaking out on his skin. He wanted to touch his own cock, he could feel the tip of it welling with precome, but he forced himself to wait. Gumshoe's roaming hands faltered slightly.

"Is this okay, boss?" he asked.

"Mmhm," Edgeworth replied, wriggling so he was sitting further back on the bed, closer to Gumshoe's crossed legs. He was tilted a little sideways as Gumshoe moved on the bed while still keeping his hands around Edgeworth's front, the Detective's feet brushing against his buttocks as he uncrossed his legs to put them either side of the prosecutor.

"My legs were going to sleep a bit there," Gumshoe explained. "I dunno how those little Buddha guys do it, sit cross-legged for hours and hours. Must be a mind over matter kinda thing."

"Zen meditation. They hallucinate, you know. It's part of the enlightenment."

"Bet they have some real crazy dreams!"

Gumshoe still had his hands resting on Edgeworth's stomach, so Edgeworth wriggled a little further onto the bed. Gumshoe repositioned his hands a little higher as he did this. Edgeworth paused for a moment, looking down at them, then he leaned back. He paused, sore back muscles complaining a little at the position, but Gumshoe raised no objection, so he leaned further back until he was against Gumshoe's chest. With that, Gumshoe moved his hands further forward until he had encircled Edgeworth in an embrace, fingers interlaced. It was warm, and comforting, and Edgeworth lay against him, eyes half-closed.

"I don't really know what I'm doing here," Gumshoe admitted. "You'll tell me if I'm doing it wrong, won't you, pal?"

"I have nothing to complain about so far."  
"Is there anywhere you... uh... don't want me to go?"

"Is there anywhere you're afraid to go, Detective?"

Gumshoe fell silent in response to that. He dropped one hand down, running it down Edgeworth's side. He stopped at the hip, palm cupping against the bone. Then he seemed to decide against it, taking his hand away altogether. It flashed in his peripheral vision, then he felt one finger running beneath one of his bangs from the back, lifting it up and letting the fine, dark grey hairs slip off one by one. The bang fell into his face, then was hooked back out of the way.

"You sure have nice hair, boss," Gumshoe's voice above him had a vague quality to it. His mind was somewhere else.

"I have good genetics on my side. Father's was much the same, though he had his shorter."

The bang was tucked behind his ear, then the hand was away again, back around his front.

"Do you want me to touch you? Uh, you know... down there," Gumshoe trailed off, awaiting a reply.

Edgeworth twisted around to face him.

"Look at me, Detective." He was redfaced, the bang tucked behind his ear now a little damp from absorbing sweat. "Look _down there_ ," he pointed at his erection. "And use your initiative."

"Right, gotcha," Gumshoe leant forward, reaching down with his right hand.

He had short fingers but big palms, and he took hold of Edgeworth's cock easily, fingers curling around the shaft.

"It's... warm!" he exclaimed.

Edgeworth normally would have had a catty reply to this, but he missed the opportunity because he was entirely focused on the wonderful tightness of Gumshoe's grip. Having wanted to be touched like this for hours and hours, to feel it for real was better than any of last night's fantasies. He let out a slow breath, feeling the blood throbbing in his cock as it hardened further beneath Gumshoe's hand. At that moment Gumshoe let go, and the loss of sensation made him open his mouth to object, but then he felt his testicles being cupped, which was a sensation all its own.

"I dunno... even though you're a guy, they still feel kinda different to mine. Weird, huh?" Gumshoe gently took his hand away, letting them settle.

"Detective, I never had you down as an individual with a particularly analytical mind - it mystifies me to see it manifest in this environment."

Gumshoe laughed; laid against his chest, Edgeworth could hear it through the Detective's breastbone.

"Guess I think about these things too much, eh?"

"Not always such a bad thing," Edgeworth said casually. "It appears to have additional beneficial effects."

"...Huh?"

Edgeworth pressed up against him, felt the definite wetness of something hard smearing against his back.

"Did you think I hadn't noticed, Detective?"

"Uhhh, I think the little fella's curious," Gumshoe said, sounding very embarrassed. "But it makes things easier... right?"  
"Yes, I dare say it does," Edgeworth said noncommittally, realising it was probably better _not_ to point out the implications of this to the Detective.

_Not gay. Just curious. That probably sums it up._

His train of thought was terminated by Gumshoe cupping his hand over his cock, rubbing it slowly up and down, and he let out an involuntary croon of ecstasy.

"Wow, you like that, huh?" Encouraged, Gumshoe made the strokes firmer, extending his fingers to harden the muscles in his palm.

He was leaning over Edgeworth's shoulder to see what he was doing, and out of the corner of his eye Edgeworth could see sweat on his brow, accompanied by a look of focused intent. He'd never had anyone so devoted to the business of making him feel this good before. And God, did it feel good - the Detective was pressing almost too hard, but his outstretched fingers created four knotty bumps of muscle where they joined onto his palm, and he could feel every one of those now; ripples of sensation up and down his shaft.

"Mmm," he replied, though it was more of a moan.

In response to that Gumshoe moved his other hand down, his hefty forearms still keeping Edgeworth pinned in their embrace while he cradled the prosecutor's balls in his unoccupied hand. Edgeworth pushed himself against Gumshoe's hand, following with a strained grunt, of one just on the edge of pain at the pressure on his cock - but it satisfied an altogether more primal urge to hump. He didn't normally let himself go like this, but Gumshoe was responding to his noises; and this was a turn-on in itself. The warmth of the Detective's breath passed over his ear - Gumshoe was breathing through his mouth now, quickening to match his own. They were both getting caught up in this, and before the last tatters of his self-control deserted him, Edgeworth finally hauled them up.

"Stop, Detective... stop," he panted.

It took Gumshoe a moment to register this, then he dropped his hands. The abrupt cessation of stimulation was a wrench back to reality. In that disorienting moment Edgeworth wanted more, more of the same till he was coming everywhere, but higher functions began to take the reins, reminding him why he'd stopped: he also wanted something deeper, more internal.

"What's up?" Gumshoe asked.

Edgeworth stood, padding across the carpet to the drawer in his bedside table. He opened it, taking out the tube of lubricant and a condom, then turned to face Gumshoe.

"I want-" he broke off, staring at Gumshoe's erection. "God. You're huge."

Gumshoe looked down, flushing right to the roots of his hair.

"Uh, I, ah, yeah..." he mumbled, trying to shield it with his hands. "Sorry, boss."

"Bloody hell, don't apologise. It's magnificent." Edgeworth reached down and tried to pull Gumshoe's hands away - the Detective resisted for a moment, then let him push them apart. "Heh," Edgeworth cackled at the sight of Gumshoe's cock, protruding proudly from its mane of hair. "You have hidden depths, Detective. Hidden depths, indeed."

"...Uh, ta?" Gumshoe was confused. "But... won't it hurt?"

Edgeworth tossed the condom back into the drawer – he only had medium ones, and a cock that size… he wanted to feel it properly, not masked by a rubber coating. He knew Gumshoe would be clean anyway – they were all regularly screened in the forces.  
"Yes, it’ll hurt.” _But damned if I care._ “You'll be gentle, though," he added.

"Um... yeah! Yeah, you won't feel a thing, I promise, pal," Gumshoe was now back on the task, he held his hand out and Edgeworth gave him the tube of lubricant.

"Oh, I'll probably feel it. I'd be disappointed if I didn't," Edgeworth said, a half-smile on his face.  
"So... I put this on," Gumshoe twiddled the cap off the tube and managed to drop it on the floor.

"Correct," Edgeworth confirmed, retrieving it.

"And then you bend over?"

"Correct."

"And I put it in?"

"Slowly and carefully, correct."

"Alrighty. I figured it was something like that," Gumshoe squirted some of the lubricant into his palm. "Whoa, it's cold!" He cupped his palm against his erection, lubricant dribbling down to catch on his pubes as he smeared it all over his shaft and the tip. "That's some pretty weird stuff."

"Put more on," Edgeworth instructed. "It'll be a... a tight fit," his mind was already imagining what it would feel like to be plugged by a cock that size; God, he couldn't wait, he could almost feel it already.

Having thoroughly lubricated himself, Gumshoe looked up at him, awaiting the next instruction. Edgeworth pulled the duvet back and climbed onto the bed, collapsing down onto his forearms and laying his head against the pillow, presenting his rear.

"Sort out my end as well, if you please," he said, voice a little muffled by the pillow.

There was a pause, then he felt the mattress giving way under his knees as Gumshoe got onto the bed. There was another, thoughtful silence. Edgeworth sighed.

"There's one hole, Detective. It's not difficult."

"...Gotcha." A few moments later Edgeworth flinched at the cold sensation of lubricant being applied... to his buttcheeks.

"Stop! Not there - around the hole!"

"Whoops!" Gumshoe wiped it away with his other palm, then put some more in the correct place. "That okay, pal?"

"It'll do - just... fuck me," that came out as a low breath. "I don't want to wait any longer."

"You... want me pretty bad, huh?" Gumshoe's voice had a deep intonation to it, undeniably masculine and yet also sultry. Edgeworth felt his cock beginning to tingle with excitement.

"More than anyone has _ever_ wanted you in your life, Detective," Edgeworth smirked into his pillow at his own irony.

"Then it'll be the best damn sex you ever had, boss - you can trust me on that!"

"It'll be the best damn sex I never had if you don't get on with it. Chop chop, and mind my bruises."

"Here I come then, pal!"

Edgeworth felt one palm, still wet from lubricant, press into his back as Gumshoe raised himself up, then the head of the Detective's cock was pressing against his anus, slowly pushing inside with a stretching painfulness only half-cancelled by the accompanying pleasure of being penetrated by something so large and warm. He let out a slow breath, controlling the urge to cry out - that would just make Gumshoe pause. He was incredibly thankful that he'd given in to the call of the vibrator the night before - though he wished he had bought a larger one now. The Detective was moving carefully, gently, a few centimetres at a time, but Edgeworth could still feel tearing stabs of pain as his back passage was forced wider to admit the hard thickness of Gumshoe's erection.

"You okay, boss?" Gumshoe asked. "I'm about halfway in..."

"Only half?!" Edgeworth propped himself up on his elbows and raised his head, looking behind him, but he couldn't see much as his rear was blocking the view. Gumshoe looked apologetic. "Oh, don't look like that."

"It hurts though, right?"

"Of course it does," Edgeworth replied, putting his head back down on the pillow again. He was leaving sweat patches on the magenta pillowcases. "But once you're all the way in, I'll start enjoying it. Now push harder; take me and pull me towards you while you're pushing - makes it easier."

Hesitant hands were placed on his hips, and he grunted as Gumshoe pulled, penetrating deeper and deeper. Now the Detective's cock had passed all the sore sports, and Edgeworth could finally focus on the satisfying fullness of having it inside him. It filled him completely, and every small movement sent another wave of tingling arousal spreading through him.

"Oh…" he murmured into the pillow. "That is..." He stopped short of trying to describe it - to use words like 'incredible' when talking about Detective Gumshoe really did go against the grain, tempting though it was to launch into superlatives when being fucked in the ass by such a gloriously large cock.  
"There y'go. I'm all the way in."

Edgeworth knew Gumshoe was waiting for further instructions, but he remained silent for a moment, just enjoying the feeling of having the Detective inside him. It was warm, and he felt so turned on. Once they started moving it would hurt again, but he'd be too far gone to care.

"Why does this even feel good for you, boss?" Gumshoe asked. "I mean, you're meant to crap with your butt, not shove things into it."

"It feels good because that rather large dick of yours is rubbing against a sensitive little gland called the prostate when you thrust. Why not give it a try and find out?"

"Uh, okay... so, like this?"

He felt Gumshoe withdraw a fair way, then slowly forge his way back in again - sore, but quickly overrun by pleasure. He closed his eyes in quiet ecstasy, then remembered he needed to let the Detective know he was doing it right, so he let a low moan escape from his lips.

"Yes, just like that," he said softly. "Slow, but hard. I'll tell you when to go faster."

"It's... kinda like being inside a woman," Gumshoe said, putting more power behind his next push - and this time the noise Edgeworth made was more genuine, a raggedly exhaled breath muffled by the pillow he was being pressed against. "But it's so tight, and- warm, and-" his voice was punctuated by his thrusts. "Yeah..." this was drawn out, bass, timed with an inward push that betrayed his own enjoyment.

Edgeworth was in another place, now - a hot, sticky, sensual place where he could feel the oncoming climax beginning to blossom in his prostate, that slow burn of excitement, that started off just in the one place and grew till it took him over. He was barely aware of the noises he was making - all his focus was on Gumshoe's cock sliding in and out of him; warm, wet and so big. Gumshoe was getting into a rhythm now, and his panting clashed with that of his partner's, rough fingers now slick with sweat and sliding off Edgeworth's hips so he had to refind his grip with each thrust.

"F-faster," Edgeworth choked out, "I'm close."

Gumshoe was silent, speeding up, grunting as he pumped faster, pulling Edgeworth towards him with more force so they thudded together over and over.

Edgeworth couldn't even try to make noises anymore, he was a sweating, panting, heaving mess heaped on the bed, being fucked beyond speech and ordered thought. His muscles were beginning to spasm and tremble under the waves of his impending climax - it was taking all his concentration to hold himself together against the building orgasm inside him, that prickling sensation that rose and fell with every thrust and turned his fingers into claws clenching at the pillow. He wanted to give in to it, let it take him, but he was holding on for the Detective's sake - some distant part of him knew the man was as turned on as he was now, and he wanted Gumshoe to come inside him, to fill him in every way.  
The rhythm broke - that was the only warning Edgeworth had; a second's pause before Gumshoe leaned forward and threw his arms around the prosecutor's chest, hauling him bodily upright while thrusting upwards with a shuddering groan, one shaky hand sliding down to cup over Edgeworth's cock.

Edgeworth arched his back, feeling the length of the Detective's cock throbbing inside him as Gumshoe came, and that set off his own orgasm, the prickles of excitement surging into pulsating waves that pulled quivering gasps from his mouth and sent every muscle in his body into contraction; his toes curled, his fingers clutched at the arm around his chest, his anus closed hungrily around Gumshoe's cock and his eyes screwed tightly shut.

"Oh, _God!_ " the words were torn from his lips. "Fuck me... fuck me..."

Gumshoe buried his face into Edgeworth's shoulderblades, his stubble rubbing against soft skin as he panted and thrusted, feeling the prosecutor's juddering climax around his cock and in the trembling muscles beneath the sweaty skin he was pressing against. He held on, and they rode it out together - the waves receded, and Edgeworth's spasms slowed, until finally he collapsed back against Gumshoe with an exhausted sigh.

"Incredible..." he murmured, giving in to the superlative - coming up with a less effusive alternative was too much of an effort.

"You're telling me, pal," Gumshoe's voice was dulled by weariness. "I don't wanna think about how good that felt. Means there's stuff about me even I didn't know."

"I wouldn't worry about it, Detective," Edgeworth said absently, opening his eyes to look up at the ceiling; he was still feeling thrilling little residual spasms with Gumshoe's cock still in his rear. "You said it was like being inside a woman, so enjoy it at face value."

"Uh... I suppose I could." Gumshoe took his hand away from Edgeworth's slowly deflating cock, moving his arms down so he was hugging the prosecutor around the middle. "Sorry for grabbing you like that - I got kinda carried away towards the end there. You want me out?"

Edgeworth could feel the tight sensation lessening - Gumshoe was starting to go down as well.

"Much as I hate to put an end to our little interlude, I think so, yes."

Carefully the Detective withdrew, and Edgeworth felt semen dribbling down his backside - that was the part he wasn't so fond of. With that big cock no longer inside him, he felt wide open, an aching kind of emptiness settling there. It had been nice, while it lasted.

"Not too messy, I hope?" he asked, reaching for the box of tissues on the bedside table and passing them behind him.

"S'alright. Ta," the tissue box was taken off him.

"Back in a minute," clenching his muscles tightly, which produced another few throbs, Edgeworth scuttled into the bathroom to hit the shower.

He returned to find Gumshoe spreadeagled across the bed, eyes closed.

"Tired?" he asked in surprise.

"Knackered, boss. KO'ed after one round - sheesh, I'm getting old."

Edgeworth chuckled at that.

"I'm sure your vitality will be restored by a prawn baguette or two."

"Heck yeah!" Gumshoe's eyes flew open, he sat up on the bed. "A couple of those would go down pretty good right about now," he rubbed his tummy happily. "Mmmm!"

"I'll get on the phone to the deli, then," Edgeworth said, grabbing his clothes off the hanger.

Gumshoe got off the bed, heading towards his discarded boxer shorts. Edgeworth caught another eyeful of the Detective's backside, and he tracked it across the room, admiring the lean curves as Gumshoe bent over to pick up his boxers from the floor. That was the snag with being on the bottom - one missed out on some things.

"Detective," he said.

Gumshoe paused.

"Boss?"

"May I... touch your ass?" Edgeworth was tentative, hopeful.

"Um..." Gumshoe craned his head over his shoulder to look at it. "Sure?"

Edgeworth floated over to him, hands held out. At last, he gently put his hands against those cheeks, that fitted so perfectly against his palms, feeling the little hairs and the warm smoothness of the skin indenting beneath his fingers. He gave a happy little sigh, resting his head against Gumshoe's back and closing his eyes as he squeezed tenderly, wiggling his fingers to make the tissue beneath them ripple.

"Haha, that tickles!"

Edgeworth ignored his laughter - he was in a little world of his own with a serene look on his face, his fixation finally satisfied. Oh, how wonderful it was. It was a full minute before he reluctantly straightened up, taking his hands away, the glaze over his eyes slowly lifting. He blinked.

"Two baguettes?" he asked briskly, composing a businesslike expression.

Gumshoe turned around, a grin on his face.

"Pal, I could totally eat three!"


End file.
